Psychic Lowdown

Yushaa left her wallet at the reservoir, so I went back at 12:30am to get it. The place was not creepy exactly, at least not until you are inexplicably plunged into relative darkness. Before we left at 11+pm, the lights there were still working fine. But when I doubled back to retrieve her wallet, the streetlight that overlooks the stone thingy we lay down on had somehow managed to bust itself, throwing that area into shadow. Excellent. At that precise moment, my pentagram necklace snapped. Wary but slightly bemused, I fixed the clasp and picked up the forgotten wallet at the same time. The moon was high above me, smiling quietly to herself as I cursed and grew steadily warmer. The night air was cool, but I was wearing two layers for my sojourn into town earlier, and sweating bullets did not improve my disposition. Rushed home, to discover that...hey! I have not healed! Bloody *&@#$ hell. If anything, I think my wounds have worsened. And just so we're clear...I do not have a problem with drinking. In fact, eight glasses a day is considered pretty healthy. Blood coated my skin, mixed in with a few malfunctioning white blood cells (did I get that right?) It was teethgrittingly fun to scrape off the partially dried blood while tryng mightily not to roar in pain. Had fun at the reservoir, actually, prior to discovering that my healing rate has dramatically declined. We pigged out and ate and mucked about. The reservoir had its own reservations for the night, but the winds skimmed across the surface of the cool water, bringing a refreshing moistness to their cooling breath. I am seriously out of my depth here. I just don't seem to heal. Perhaps it is time to cauterize the wounds, painful as it sounds. I have a slight headache from the heatiness of my diet today, and I think I really should get some much needed rest before the weekend arrives, and brings with it a resurrection for my darling piano. Oh, wait. Something else happened, but I'm really too worn down to type any further.

Psychic Gleanings

It is the night that has healed my soul. I have cracked open tomes of knowledge, soaking up information the way the desert absorbs moisture. I was awake as soon as the sun had set, and spent a few hours in front of the piano. Then I exercised my intellect in the form of mind-bending codes and cryptic messages. While initially annoyed that I failed to decipher standard codes, I was surprised to find that the harder ones are easier, if that makes sense. Codes are given a hierarchy of their own, with more challenging ones having a higher rating. Standard ones bore me, therefore I believe I do not fully engage my mind in cracking them. But the more difficult ones...ah. Those are fun. I have spent close to four hours unravelling them, and the amusement such pursuits provide me with is delightful. A waste of time, I'm sure some might say, but I cannot deny it pleases my mind and spirit to know that I am capable of intellectual leaps. My heart has been discarded into the deepest corner of my mind, hidden until I see a need to examine its flaws at length. I saw him, I heard his voice, I had a hand in his evolution, but I do not foresee a place for me in his future. Therefore, it is with no regret that I leave yet another man to take his place as an angel on earth. These mental challenges will occupy most of my night, I see. Highly enjoyable, and I can feel my mind churning away as I run various solutions all at one time. I am still coughing rather badly, my throat is strained and sore, but I believe the honey and lemon concoction (thanks to dear Phoebe) has finally directed it towards healing. Regeneration is a wonderful thing, particularly when I realise his return was just a minor hindrance in the greater scheme of things. I have walked across time tonight, visiting ancient Greece, Egypt, and even the Cretaceous period. Cracking IQ puzzles wasn't all I did. While mulling over the solutions, I also read and brushed up on my understanding of hieroglyphs (which, surprisingly, is a Greek word), mythologies in both countries (the Sphinx has ties to both civilisations, coincidentally), and furthered my understanding of languages. I speak a fair amount of English, Malay, Spanish, French and Latin, (in order of fluency. I was rather inclined to list Malay last.) with my Italian and German being the weakest. I have yet to touch Greek, although I know a few phrases. I also rediscovered my love for Stripperella. Love that show. It seems I have spent a good portion of the night preoccupied with being myself, rather than part of the darkness. If only I could store some of the light I feel inside me now, for the moments of darkness that I know will come over me in moments of despair. If only, if only. Well, for now, it's back to mental exercises that keep my wit sharp and gleaming!
There are reasons why an angel will leave a man alone in the darkness. So he will stand and find the light within himself.

Psychic End?

One final glance, one last crack, and I vanished into the night. Part of the shadows that are so central to my life, the focus of so many thoughts. I was unseen, but I saw. The frown that marred such perfect features, the hesitation. I closed my eyes, and allowed the winds of change to carry me away. Perfection was an illusion I never could weave, even for the one I love. A raised hand, acknowledgements of farewell, and the night was mine. I ran. I ran until my lungs burned, but still...that one image haunted me. Him watching me vanish with the oddest look on his face. Dare I say it, from the drops of blood that I spilled, blooms of hope blossomed. The night cloaked me, my vast home. I wandered freely through the dark streets, seeking peace, wondering if I could somehow manage to soothe the pain simmering in my heart. Cats called out to me with their nocturnal vigour, but I rushed on, heedless of anyone or anything. I had my protections, but the one I trusted had seared me beyond all recognition. I half-expect myself to cough up blood any minute now, the pain in my throat is that bad. It's all about pain, and I don't know where mine ends and his begins. I can't redeem myself in his eyes, can I? I will forever be the devil's advocate, while he with his untainted soul has the makings of an angel. I can read some people easily; my techniques are my own. He, however, is an enigma I fear I will never understand. I could only read the hesitation and pain as I left. I do not really care what happens next. The winds may seize me and bring me elsewhere, I don't know. But at this moment, let me lie down and dream of green fields and rolling meadows where the skies are forever blue and hearts forever whole.
I still have hope, though I have nothing else left.

Psychic Black

The darkness surrounds me, and suddenly, my tears are falling freely. I have never known anyone else who considers his mind a prison. There are horrors embedded in my past, phantoms that glide through my mind ever so often. My heart is clenched in fear, but I know that these demons that taunt me are not Lucifer's minions. No, they come from within me, and I don't know how to banish them permanently. My mind has been relaxed enough for my mental barriers to fall away, and therefore this is my own fault. I cannot explain how the pain can overwhelm me, how excruciating it is when I know I am helpless. It runs through my veins now, and I cannot truly describe the sensation. It's like razor blades running up and down from the inside. I have to find a way to beat this verbal paralysis, this inability of mine to open up and talk to people about how I feel. I can't keep running away. But...so much pain. All the memories are killing me, and I don't know how to get rid of them. It helped ease some of the pain when I let someone in, but...there's so much I can't say. Am I destined to keep this pain within me forever? The tears don't help. They fall, but they don't make me feel better the way people say they do. It isn't cathartic for me. I am dying inside, and slowly wilting, and I know they are those who are trying to reach out for me. But all I see when I open my eyes is utter blackness. I cannot fight my past, can I? I cannot fight these emotions, these demons that taunt me so relentlessly. Today is Sunday. The supposed day of rest. Where will morning find me? Where will I be? Each drop silvers my fingers, gleaming with wicked glee at my pain, these horrible tears. I have to fight my own mind, struggle to bury the memories that bring me to my knees. Is the human mind so powerful? Why can't I just forget? All the pain? The night was beautiful, as the storm raged on. It calmed me slightly. Lightning danced in erratic flashes across the sky, and for a moment, when I closed my eyes, I was at peace. But then I opened them again, and reality sank in. I have aged, but wisdom and contentment still elude me. Is success only for those who conform? If so, then I am condemned. I am lost, and I don't believe I was given a compass. I often wish that at times like this, I had my own castle to retreat to, with its own maze-like corridors that I could wander in for days, symbolic of the pilgrimage through my mind that I could never complete. The pain is still raw and fresh, even after all these years. Is it because I have never examined each painful memory at length? It is stupid. My mind has imprisoned my soul, and with each breath I appear to be losing the fight. Time is irrelevant to me, in my mind there is no time. There is nothing but memories waiting to be examined and explained. But I do not have the strength necessary for such a feat, and I believe I will be doing this for years to come. Crying because I am not strong enough to face the terrors in my past, terrible events that still give me nightmares. The blackness that cloaks me now...why can't it ever enter my mind and erase all the pain? I have lived by myself for a good part of my life. I can't depend on my mortal angels to save me everytime the memories threaten to surface. I can't. I'm not strong enough.
Gabriel, I don't ask for salvation. I pray for strength.

Psychic Solidarity

After last night's emotional reunion with the darker aspect of my soul, today's weather appeared to reflect my mood. Cloudy grey skies, light drizzles, a heaviness to the air. I dragged myself out of bed at 12pm, after 5 hours of sleep. I will not reveal where I spent the night, suffice it to say that after all that energy left me, I felt very drained and tired. I took a shower and got dressed, and Elina and Amin popped over at 1pm. After admiring his very fine goatee (snickers), I got dressed and went out with Kenneth and Yzanne. Went out to Dhoby Ghaut, then visited a studio for him to take a few photos. It was awfully fun, and I felt my dark mood lift slightly. Yzanne with her zany humour, and Kenneth with his...Kennethness. We bickered incessantly over silly things like who got to walk next to Kenneth. Stuff like that. Haha. We left town at like six plus and zoomed off to Bedok. I grabbed a few necessities along the way, and opened the door expecting to find Yushaa, Phoebe and Elina watching a horror movie. Imagine my surprise, when instead, I found a whole row of close friends assembled, beaming at me. The darkness that wreathed itself around my soul fled, and I felt lightheaded in the overabundance of warmth that enveloped me. Honestly, I thought it would be just us bumming around. I've never been so pleasantly surprised before, and a very big 'thank you' must go out to everyone. Yushaa, Elina, Phoebe, Kenneth, Gina, Yiling, Melissa, Yzanne, Amin, Chia Wee, Aaron and Li Han. I could see at once that a lot of hard work went into this surprise. There was lots of food, music, and fun. I gorged myself on the excellent feast. Then I was persuaded to give a brief speech, and Kenneth interviewed me. It was very surreal. I will never forget the moment when I opened the door and found my close friends gathered around a glowing cake, beaming at me. That sensation was very strange, yet exhilarating. Two completely different circles of friends (who barely knew each other) combined to make some odd Venn diagram with me at the centre. I can honestly say it has cheered me up from the depression of the past few days. What with Seif going off to NS, and the very brief return and sudden disappearance of an old angel, it has been very trying. *muses* Yushaa whispered that a guy named Alex had telephoned while I was out, and asked to speak to me, insisting that we had ordered a thousand balloons for the party. Naturally, they jumped to the logical conclusion that it was the Alex from my past. But this 'Alex' was weird, and left them befuddled. Then Amin came along, grinning like a Cheshire cat, and told Yushaa it was actually his friend pranking them. Her reaction was priceless. She set her utensils down, and literally flew after him, shrieking, while we roared with laughter. Then we moved on to presents. =) I was very touched by the cards, and I couldn't stop grinning when I read what they had all written. I opened the first black box, and my heart lifted. A pentagram necklace. =) I really must give Yushaa and Elina another squeeze for that one. I must also thank Gina, Yiling, Moo-moo and Aaron for the very nice Ripcurl wallet. (I get the hint to change my wallet. Haha!) And a humongous compendium of Shakespeare's works. Phoebe's card was definitely the cutest, although I must say a few of the messages touched me deeply. *grins* To be honest, it wasn't so much the presents that put the huge smile on my face, although they were excellent. It was their very presence, that unspoken solidarity. Maybe I'm not as alone as I thought after all. =) I would have teared up, but my tear ducts got jammed. =P Thanks guys. =) It was one of the best days in a long long time. I must say thank you to all of them again for such a wonderful and definitely surprising party. I looked forward to this day with dread, and it turned out to be quite the opposite. Perhaps growing up isn't so bad after all.
It was wonderful. A shining page in my history.

Psychic Charge (-)

My body has been flooded with seemingly limitless energy. I half fancy a run under the moonlight, whirling through the shadows unseen. I've been pacing the house unceasingly, and it is only now that I have forced myself to sit and channel the energy pulsing through me into words. The urge to run has never been so powerful. I have to do something to burn the excess off; it's giving me a headache to be so still when I feel practically nuclear-powered right now. This energy is borne on winds of sadness...for everything that could have been, but will never be. Night has descended in all its finery, and I am one of her ornaments. I have to find something to do before I spontaneously combust. I need to run, to do something to keep the pain at bay. I have to do something! My mind is hammering. Runrunrun. But I can't find it in me to dress up for the night, as I usually do. Not that I am lacking in energy. Not in my current state, when I'm in constant motion. I have to keep moving, because I don't want to catch my breath. Keep me moving. Where can I go to at this time of night when I need a moment of peace? I don't want to be near water for once. I have my music, I have my words, the world is mine. But where? Runrunrun. I am shaking with energy. I have no inclination to fight the desire to move, to be one with the winds and shadow, to be part of the night. The rational part of my mind wars with my instincts. I will run until I fall to my knees. I won't stop even if my lungs collapse. I must...have to burn all the excess energy off. I'm already gasping, and I'm wasting time typing. I must leave now. Leave my prejudices and fears and opinions behind, let all my pain melt away in drops of sweat. Runrunrun.

Psychic Summoning

I squeezed my eyes shut, as in my darkest hour, I put the entire strength of my heart into one hopeful telepathic call. A summons to an angel whose whereabouts are currently unknown to me. The storm hovered over me as I drifted aimlessly, lost in my own memories, and the pain I felt everywhere around me. I revisited the paths we took all those years ago, the places we sat at and talked for hours at a time, desperately needing peace. I believe there is no need for me to elaborate further, as half my blog is filled with him. He lurks behind every other sentence, the silent force that animates me. Perhap I really have lost him forever, in which case it is time I returned to my own destiny. Which is what, precisely? In less than 24 hours, I will have aged another year. Plants grow towards the sun, men move towards their dreams, yet I find myself suspended, static, unmoving. I have managed to fool myself into believing that I do not need guidance. I'm Peter Pan, but I have no idea where Never-Never Land is. If you you think this post is me self-aggrandizing, you're mistaken. I know I am different, but never has it felt more damning. I am losing my grip on faith, one slip a day. So what if I can see into hearts as though they were open books? I cannot fathom my own. So what if I can speak languages unknown to most people? I can't hold a conversation with myself. I'm a terrible listener. I feel like running away, far far away where there are no people to be my mirrors and tell me what I am. I want to be far far away where there isn't anyone who hurts. I want to be far away from anyone who's hurting, who's broken, who's beaten. I cannot heal all these hearts, I cannot stop them from dying. Where is our Never-Never Land? I saw a man today, I saw a boy, I saw a girl. The man will lose his legs, the boy his heart, the girl her life. I couldn't do anything else except be nice. What can I say that will erase their losses? I can't heal, although on many occasions I wish I could. I can't help, can I? My heart is breaking, for those who deserve so much more, but are shortchanged by Fate. It hurts when you see people crying, but you don't quite know what to say. "In death, you'll find the peace you never had in life." That's just stupid. Yet, you know...it is in misfortune that you see the greatness inherent in every man. Doesn't anyone else care about them? Are we all so caught up in our own race to success that we forsake those who have fallen to the wayside? Where are our angels? Can my one small voice call out to every one of them, ensure that all these hurting people are soothed?
Disillusioned illusionist.

Psychic Recollection

I've never been so afraid. Have I lost him through ignorance, through stupidity? I can't say it was unexpected, but still...it hurts just as badly as it did the last time round. I've spent my day sitting in sunlight, feeling the warmth, but knowing that it cannot touch my heart. Frozen by bitter tears, the guilt and self-recriminations swirled together to make a disgusting brew. I couldn't understand it. A brief reappearance, and then he vanishes altogether. I feel like I've been on tenterhooks the entire day. I read words from our past, remembering the sweetness, the laughter, the unselfishness that comes from true love. The protectiveness I felt for him, how I wanted to shelter him from the cruelty of life, how he tried to make me see that I was holding myself back. The tears we shed in each other's arms, the gentleness no one else would have thought possible. It was unexpected, how we were left untouched. Given that the atmosphere of the school at that time was sickeningly homophobic, we should have had a harder time. Granted, whispers preceded us, and we became an open secret, but nothing ever came of it. I thought he would crack under the strain of being in perpetual spotlight, but he bore it all with the strength and grace unmatched by most men. I was secretly proud of him. Perhaps it was the gentle care that we felt for each other that melted even the most homophobic heart, perhaps that was the reason why we could walk side by side without fear. In fact, I remember that a few people even told me that I changed their perception of gay men. Kelly, I remember, was disgusted at first, but over time she became, and remains to this day, one of my best friends. I loved him. I still do, in fact. It has been two years, and occasionally, I laugh and inwardly marvel at the strength of emotion that has never faltered even with the passage of time. Everything else is crumbling around me, but I hold fast in the fact that the flame of my heart has never wavered. The minor squabbles we had seem so trivial now, but at that time, although I didn't tell him, I was surprised at how well he could handle the pressure of being next to me. I regret now the tears that spilled from those eyes because of me. If only I could take back every hurtful word. I didn't realise the distance was growing until it was too great a rift to close. He finally gained his wings, and we both parted bitter and disillusioned. At first I was convinced he'd come back, like so many times before. But then days turned into months, and months turned into years. I have never stopped loving, nor have I stopped hoping.
Until the day my heart stops beating...perhaps then I will finally stop bleeding.

Psychic Entity

The days have drifted by, and I find myself growing increasingly listless. The words that follow may seem trite and inconsequential to a few, but to me...it was one of the few hair-raising moments of my life. For those in the know, not all malevolent presences manifest themselves at twelve midnight or some such nonsense. My own experiences tend to put the timing around dusk, or when the sunlight turns a sickly orange yellow in the late afternoon. So today, I went over to a place that is not exactly clean in terms of spirituality, though when I set off, I didn't know it yet. The floors were black, the walls were black and red, and to top it off, I had to deal with a demonic feline. At first, I thought it was a really cool and cosy setting. Something I'd like myself. But then the strangest sensation hit me. It's like...it's hard to explain clearly, but I'll try. Fo me, a church or place of worship soothes my soul, it gives me a measure of security. What I felt was the exact opposite. Few supernatural phenomena can scare the socks off me, and this is one of the rare occasions. I think I can safely say that house and whatever resides in there does not welcome me. I never thought I'd say something negative about cats, but something about that setting, that atmosphere just sent my alarm bells into overdrive. The best part would be me not knowing until that sensation made itself known, and then it hit me that this was not the best place to be alone in. So I whipped out my trusty handphone, made a call overseas, and voila. The person confirmed that the place isn't clean. In the owner's own words, "Oh, yeah. I forgot to tell you. There's something in that house." Rolling my eyes, I hung up and steeled myself. I couldn't leave yet. The demented cat was yowling and spitting, and worse, every defence I had ever learnt against the supernatural leaked clean out of my head. It's hard to explain, but it's like the very air itself is charged and you half expect a cloaked and hooded figure to come swooping down at you from the darkened corridor. I hate bright lights, so I hadn't bothered to flick the lights on, and no supernatural entity was gonna spook me enough to make me turn it on anyway. The sensation was getting stronger by the minute, however, and the dying sunlight was fading from the black floors. For once, though, my curiosity failed me. Some things are simply too big a bite for me, and I sensed that this presence was definitely not of the friendly variety. In fact, it seemed positively hostile. The cat, meanwhile, was going into conniptions and screaming at me, which was not putting me at ease. And it struck me how very much like a human infant a kitten can sound like when it screams. Already strained and anxious, I finally cracked and went out for some fresh air. Two cigarettes later, I went back in, after the cat had worn itself out, and then I examined my reaction. I was more than ready to pack my things and leave. Some fights are pointless, and this was one I knew I could not win. I mean, if you accept that the spiritual world exists, that there is a God, then logically you ought to understand the concept of a whole legion of angels and demons that exist on this plane. And that presence I felt was definitely from the latter category. And of course, she had to tell me that at night, there would be soft crying sounds coming from the fabled corridor, and that there are actually two presences. One appeared feminine, and the other was glimpsed as a tall formless figure. All in all, I spent a few hours there, trying to reconcile the logical part of my mind, and the part that was screaming at me to leave immediately. I didn't leave, of course. Pride made me stay bullheadedly, but I did have enough sense to leave th black corridor alone. When I say black, I mean black. The floors were black, and no light penetrates that part of the house. But funny thing is...you know that famous fight or flight reaction? For me, it's definitely fight. Now that I think about it, the co-owner of the house was rather cryptic when we spoke after I left the house. He was asking me if there were any problems with the house, and while inclined to tell him what I felt, I merely gave him a cryptic smile of my own and left his question unanswered. As his co-owner has already given me the lowdown, I'm sure he knows. So it remains unspoken, but acknowledged that there exists in that house, something beyond the realm of the physical. Now I just hope it hasn't followed me home.

Psychic Sparkle

The day started off in its usual monotone. I woke up, got dressed, hung on the phone, then went out to get Muffin, Benjy and Matilda fed. Muffin went wild, clawing my jeans and mewling till she turned blue in the face. Well, metaphorically speaking of course. There was a brief skirmish between Benjy and Muffin, in which everyone got very agitated. Then at four, I left to get reacquainted with my piano. It seems as though I never left, although the signs of departure are clear to enlightened eyes. Changes here and then, both minute and large, all these I observed with a heavy heart. Time is a fleeting friend, and I made the most of it while I was there. I have decided that I need new files, plural. I can't stand loose sheet music, yet I can never have enough files for my notes. I toyed with the idea of publishing, since the topic was broached yet again. I quite regret turning down the offer of writing a novel two months back. Well, what's done is done. I can always go indie. I have also decided to enter the competition, which means lots of panic, high levels of stress, and pretty good exposure to the local arts scene, which I think has undergone a tremendous amount of change. Hmm. Today was one of the rare occasions when I did not protest spending time with my family (which is in itself a rarity). Of course, the necessary barriers were up and functioning...but still. It was nice to actually spend time without clashing personalities or viewpoints for once. We skirted around sensitive issues, and stayed on terra firma for most of the conversation over ice kacang and chendol. Then it was homeward bound for me. As for my angel, who has mysteriously returned after a long hiatus, I can only say that I hope I've misread the signs (I suck at fortune-telling, by the way, besides many other things) and that nothing has changed. Certainly many seem to think so. I'm in a lighthearted mood tonight, and that bodes well for the circle around me. Synchronized emotion and all that. I've been extra careful to eat properly, my wounds have finally healed completely, and I can move unencumbered by jolts of pain. I must say, though...the thrill of a fight is addictive. Maybe it's just a guy thing. *muses* Oh, speaking of guy things....my assassin expired! Crap. And I worked so hard to get all the items and everything....full Natalya's Odium set, not to mention the Charms and Uniques. Tsk. Annoying. *smiles* Perhaps the world has righted itself. I dare not hope for too much, but that's the funny thing about hope...it can never be bound by limitations. And nor can I, when it comes down to it. =)
Thank you everyone. For having unshakable faith in me.

Psychic Resurrection (Descension of an Angel)

The hours have slid by in an almost dreamlike trance, shining drops of silver that are forever lost to me. Are you lost to me as well, angel? These questions, too forthright for me ever to ask, perhaps will never reach your ears. But I must spill these thoughts and emotions before they consume what is left of me, taint the purity I have fought so long to maintain. Two years of silence...they were not kind to me. Death stalked me, pain was a constant. But I healed myself these two years, finally believing my last angel had ascended, leaving me alone to fight my own battles. I had forgotten how affected I can be by words and emotion. I could not believe my eyes when I read the words, heard the pleas to respond. In retrospect, it was foolish. I could have kept my silence. Could have, should have. But it is too late. I responded, and was deluged by questions, overwhelmed by emotion. The usual, "I have been okay, fine really." It is not bloody ok! I have spent two entire years trying to move on. As always, I could detect no hint of sarcasm in his words, could not read him. I never could anyway. One of the reasons why we parted ways. He with his high morals and shining wings of purity, and I with my darkness and cunning. Do angels seek vengeance? I don't know. I'm no angel. Still, the question haunts me: why has he returned? Most would be glad, had they been in my shoes. Yet I sense something ominous about the return of the angel I stupidly fell for. Good and evil, angel and demon. We did not connect on the basest level, and yet...I am afraid I have twisted him, corrupted his soul somehow simply by loving him. Time still moves on relentlessly, but I find myself lost, suspended in the core of my own universe, drowning in the memories of what used to be. His very return has troubled me greatly, and that in itself is troubling...portent of things to come, perhaps? I cannot deny I am wary, yet hopeful. Perhaps he has heard my telepathic cries after all. I remain deeply troubled, and the arrival of morning brings with it a clotted feel to the air, as though the day ahead is fraught with danger. *sigh* He is no longer my angel, I know this well enough. His very return has caused an upheaval in the stillness I believe I have come to take for granted. I have to go do something to take my mind off the emotional shock.
So much we never got to say. Will these words finally see the light of day?

Psychic Return

After two years of relative silence, two years of independence, why now? Is this some sick game of cat and mouse? I fail to understand why he has returned. On what grounds, what obligation do I have to respond to his pleas to speak to him? Two years' worth of pain have turned me bitter, I do not dispute this. My mind is confused, my heart is in turmoil. Suddenly my defenses are no more than flimsy rags against the gale he has summoned, just by his mere presence. His very words have numbed my mind, and suddenly all the old wounds are reopened. Why? Why? I don't understand anything. The memories are resurfacing, and somehow, I realise, I don't want to close this particular chapter. I want it to remain unfinished, for that leaves a myriad of possible endings, but I do not want it to end on such a definite note. Why...after two years, has my angel decided to leave his heavenly throne to visit me? I have no accomplishments to speak of, and I don't want him to see what has become of me. My thoughts and wariness arrive too late, for we have already spoken, and I believe my heart will crack under the slightest pressure. I do not know what the intentions were, and I do not care. I want Kenneth, regardless of how childish that makes me sound. Perhaps he can make some sense of this insane nightmare I have managed to get trapped in.
Don't do this to me.

Psychic Irascibility

My pain and sadness at the two most recent deaths I have encountered have been pushed aside by a more primeval emotion, one that threatens to overwhelm and consume me. My temper, so long dormant, has finally rekindled and made itself known. I am fiercely protective of my privacy, and guard my secrets close to my heart. Very few have managed to gain my trust, and while it can be rather trying for those around me, this secrecy has served me well in the past. Therefore it annoys me to the point of anger when I find that my privacy has been violated in the vilest manner I can think of. I am inclined to forgive one or two unintentional trespasses, but when it becomes habit, I fear I must reveal a touch of the fire that blazes unseen in my heart. Surely, I thought to myself as the evidence of the lastest invasion stared at me like an unsightly blemish, surely, this was no accident. Disbelief gave way to raw, pulsing anger. I have the quiet nature of a predator, I slink around quietly, appearing only to rise for food or other necessity, but there are times when my claws are unsheathed, and this time, I fear, I am unable to retract them out of deference of any kind, imagined or otherwise. I have too often been content enough to sit back and allow others to fight my battles for me, but now I must gather all my strength into one booming message that will resound and echo in the heart of the one who has so far been a thorn in my side. I will not deny the fact that I have glimpsed a heart that might once have been pure, but time has made it bitter, like a lime left in a glass of water for too long. It is not my duty or responsibility to restore what time has taken, but it has come to my attention that for far too long, someone has been observing me with a predatory alertness not unlike mine. If there is one thing any predator hates, it is someone else who invades his territory. I have not given any indication that anything is amiss, for my skill is such that to anyone who does not know me well enough will think emotion is alien to me. To open one's heart up is to invite pain, as I ought to know very well. It is with a touch of asperity that I begin my Monday, and although I have work in three hours, I am aware that in my current state, it will require more time than I have available to rest both mind and body. I am as yet undecided on what to do regarding this intruder, who shall, for the purposes of this online rant, be rendered nameless. My annoyance has recently started to congeal into a more focused form of hatred. Granted, it took a few oversights on my part to allow the transgression to happen in the first place, but still. The word 'outraged' is ill-suited to describe the full scope of my emotions now. I have been mindful of my temper recently, especially since my wounds are not at all healing. I am taking longer than I thought I would to recover...I must be getting old. Sigh. It is an alarming thought, to discover that I tire so easily, that I allow my empathy to overwhelm me when I see pain in the eyes of another. Still, this latest slight against me will not be allowed to continue, and I will halt this tide in its tracks. I may just have inadvertently saved myself, although I cannot really say anymore on the matter. Needless to say, I will be strengthening my defenses against such invasions. Unfortunately, that one glimpse this person had of me has almost certainly destroyed any chance I might have had of repairing the bonds I have with certain factions. Therefore, I will focus my sight on what was made known, and will mete out punishment accordingly. A word to the wise, this latest transgression, when compounded with my other troubles, have swirled together to drain my energy effortlessly away down the great cosmic drain, leaving me very much tired and more likely to bite when spoken to. Therefore, keep your distance until I have taken my rest and have finally calmed down. As to the man who captured both my imagination and my heart, I have finally closed that chapter on a sour note. No words were spoken, for none were necessary. He has a family, of which I am certain I have never been part of, and now that I am fully grown (19 this year. I AM growing old) the whole world is mine if I only choose to seize it. I will never return there again, for the bonds that bind have finally withered away and I am free both mentally and physically. I have never felt more vindicated, or vindictive, but I have already given my warning, and if that is not enough, then Heaven help the next one who incurs my wrath.
It is time for the blood of the unworthy to spill.

Psychic Bereavement

Not long after my most recent encounter with death, I have had the misfortune of meeting another fleeting life. The banks of my heart are overflowing with pain and misery, but I am truly helpless against such a formidable entity. How can I comfort those whose hearts have been brushed by death, when I myself am so shaken? The person in question has already been taken, and I weep uselessly for yet another death. It is worse when you know the person so very well. There is nothing that I can say to describe the pain that is constricting my heart. This death hits closer to home than the previous one, perhaps because it only increases my sadness at the prevalence of death surrounding me. It is passing by us, great gleaming drops in an ageless hourglass, and everywhere around me, people are dying, are suffering, and I can only seek slight comfort in the fact that death may have brought them respite from the trials of daily life. Drops of blood litter the roads of my past like grim tombstones that mark the passage of time. How can I tell these departed souls how much they mean to the world, to those whose lives have been touched by them? How much have they lost, have they left unfinished? It is worse when the cause of death is so violent. All I can see in my mind right now is shards of glass, coloured by ghastly red liquid as the scent of death circles above like a carrion bird. I cannot cross the great divide that separates the living from the dead, I cannot tell them how much they will be missed. What can I do, when I come face to face with death again, just days after seeing another life scythed away? My tears will not help, and I cannot understand the pain I feel on behalf of those who drift away on the black wings of the angel of death.
I am on the wrong side of the fence.

Psychic Senescence

I have witnessed another death, one that saddens me greatly. A constant companion, childlike in innocence, yet with a maturity and grace unparalleled by anyone I've encountered so far. This death was special, because it invoked in me such emotion, instead of numbing me as most incidents usually do. Such is the brevity of life. A few relationships connected to me by the length and width of a spider's thread have also deteriorated, and finally died. I have realised that it has been two years since our last meeting, and while the emotions remain strong, I have already spent two years building a new life for myself. Granted, the first half of the first year was spent in numb solitude, but I eventually regained social consciousness. As to the topic of the ivory keys that dance and tinkle under my fingers, or the pen that in my hand becomes a window into my mind and soul...I don't really know what to do. How many men have risen into prominence through their passions? History remembers many great men, years after they have passed on. Their legacy remains etched in time. Yet many more lie unseen in the periphery of history's skewed vision, and I have finally grasped the reality that perhaps I belong to the latter category. My mind is a mishmash of many thoughts, but I do understand that somewhere along the line, I lost track of what mattered to me. I stood by my principles, I fought to get to where I am, but the mountains I've conquered are just hills compared to the monumental achievements of the men I so greatly admire. I am still ill, my wounds have not completely healed, and the weariness seems to have infused itself into my very bones. Yet despite all this, or perhaps because of it, I am unable to rest. I have expelled the contents of my stomach into the toilet, repeatedly until I realised there was nothing left to spew out. *sigh* Life is a vast spiderweb, and perhaps in the cosmic scheme of things, I'm just a fly trapped in a rut, squeaking, "Help me." I have been growing increasingly restless, and nothing appears to soothe the anxiety rising up within me. Nothing is permanent, and these deaths that trouble me so greatly have only proven the point, to the extent that my heart is in excruciating pain. I only knew her briefly, but she touched me with her innocence, and her death was so very violent. The moon is stark against the black skies, and somehow, replaying the instant of death in my mind only pains me more. I cannot hate Azrael, for he is both beautiful and a necessary part of life. Yet I cannot help but wonder why he taunts me so mercilessly by taking everyone I love so dearly one at a time, while leaving me untouched. The angels give me a wide berth, but demons, both my own and those of others are attracted to me like moths to a flame. I am so weary of having to fight, of having to keep my defenses intact, of keeping my mind alert and processing all the time. Is there no respite? Have I been condemned to such a life, where everything falls apart in my darkened vision? My discontent grows with each day, and I know that as time passes, my restlessness will see me fleeing to greener pastures, even if it means yet another death. I have wandered too freely through the minds and hearts of mortal men, and perhaps that is I am being punished now. My writings have been lost to me forever, and I have yet to understand why it is I am seeking out former allies who have since become phantoms in my memories. The road ahead is long and dark, and perhaps that is why I am recalling those who once stood tall next to me as I faced my personal demons in what feels like centuries ago. Those who fought to capture my attention, to force me to understand that I loved, those who knew me before I knew what it is I am today. Perhaps it is my fear of the future, my aversion to change that leads me back to my roots. I am terribly afraid, because I know that at any given moment, I can fall and be forever condemned. Yet like most foolish mortals, I fiercely guard that ray of hope that glows faintly within my breast, in defiance of fate. There is no longer an angel powerful enough to keep my darkness at bay. Kit has regained his wings against my will, and has ascended to be where he should be. I hold no grudges where he is concerned, for he has done his duty in keeping me safe for well over a year. My friend, my angel, my lover...is gone, flourishing like the blossom I know him to be. But me...the dreams I have had recently are nothing short of terrifying, yet they pale in comparison to the horrors an uncertain future hold for me. *bows* I will remember and honour my promise to Kit, and Kenneth. Some promises were built upon lies, and false hopes, and therefore I see no reason not to break them, like precious Ming vases finally proven to be fakes. After a long 4 year hiatus, I have finally returned and started rebuilding my collection. Even if I have to do it with my nails and bare hands, I will carve out that same exact person I used to be, moulded right down to the aura of darkness only I know so well. Some people see only in black and white, right or wrong. What fools they are, not to perceive and embrace the shades of grey that lie in between, the graduations of light and darkness that have been so pivotal in my life thus far. Perhaps there is a reason why these deaths haunt me so, perhaps there is a reason why I am seeking out my old companions. Those who knew me before transformation seized me, and evolution made me unrecognisable by all who had seen me as a child. But all I can see now is darkness, and perhaps I have already been blinded by the growing frustration in my soul. There are those who have been waiting for this moment, for my fall into darkness, and somehow, I can only shrug my shoulders and allow my darkness to obscure their vision of me. I can be the sweetest angel who can calm the mightiest storm, but I can also be the darkest demon spewed out from the bowels of hell. Come morning, which will I be? It is a question someone has asked me before. My answer, after years of contemplation...is this. I am neither demonic, nor divine in origin. I am human, as human as the rest of you. Cut me, and my blood runs red. Hurt me, for I feel emotion of such strength it can bring me to my knees. Such is the proof of my humanity, but know also that knowledge is power, and power is what you make of it.
I have walked the paths from heaven to hell. But what I have seen, I can never tell.

Psychic Analysis

Ach...I have work at eleven in the morning, and I've just awoken from a brief slumber that lasted a grand total of four hours. Speaking of work, I've realised something else about me. Plop me in front of strangers, and I clam up completely. Maybe it's a defensive reaction, or maybe it's just me, but I cannot immediately connect and speak with people. Therefore, I suspect the staff have come to think that I am either intellectually-challenged, or painfully arrogant. I don't know why I stand so aloof either, actually. These things take time. Hmm. And you cannot believe the number of snooty people that abound in our tiny dot of a country. I'm not unpatriotic or anything, but it seems that foreigners tend to be more well-mannered and polite. Singaporeans have a weird mentality that leads them to the conclusion that they are the ultimate priority for all who serve them, and therefore it's themthemthem. Anything less, and they are capable of kicking up a huge big fuss. Like earlier, there was this lady who wanted to order coffee, but DJ was momentarily lost for words, understandably. He was, after all, next to yours truly. *ahem* So anyway, the lady quickly grew impatient and we were dishonorably dismissed from her presence. Talk about a storm in a teacup. Haha. But of course, there are the sweet ones who will smile and wait patiently and mind their P's and Q's. I'm just nervous, which is quite normal right? Right? My eyes are red, and I have lost track of my hydration chart. Which translates to ulcers, which in turn translates to me being more cranky than usual. But for some reason, I've been feeling pretty cheerful these past few days. Work is tiring, that's true. But it also takes my mind off darker topics, and I can't quite decide whether that's a blessing or a curse. Oh! Everyone's been telling me horror stories about the weekend, and suddenly I feel like I shouldn't have taken up the weekend roster. I've got a bone to pick with ex-gay ministries, but I'm feeling too tired to rant.
Show me what love is-haven't got a clue. Show me that wonders can be true.

Psychic Ramblings

I was lying down in my usual corner, having spent half the night reading philosophical musings, and rediscovering minor marvels. But as I lay on the cold floor, eyelids fluttering, my breathing quickened in tandem with my pulse. My temperature and temper went up, in contradiction with my surroundings. Suddenly energy was flowing through my veins, and I knew sleep was a lost cause. Thoughts chased each other through my head in a frightening jumble, and though my eyes are now red and tired, I know my energy levels are through the roof. Sleep will not come tonight. I have a wealth of knowledge immortalised in tomes within my reach, I have a body pulsing with frantic energy, and my interests have been rekindled. Do the math. I have an entire day left, before I slough off my shell, shed my skin and step into the sunlight as an entirely new person. Now, bear with me if my words at this point become vague and ambiguous. As I see it, I have two choices. Either I retain the skills and knowledge from my experiences and previous events, and utilise them in my new life, or I discard them completely and can then safely say I am truly a new character. Each has its own pros and cons, though I must admit I am loath to disregard years of mental silence and training. The thing about most of humanity is...we are never silent inside. Everytime I step out of the house, I feel immediately weary from the many thoughts and emotions that pollute the very air. *sigh* I am weary now, and I must face the prospect of giving up my gifts in favour of a more...mundane, humdrum life. In other words, normal. Eeck. Can you imagine? Me, not writing, not seated at the piano, not devouring works of great artists, be they musical or literary. I cannot imagine myself doing none of those things. Already, I've started planning for a new vast library of music and words. Yet if the challenge set before me would be to shut my intellect off, turn my mind down to 'low' and go about life as a robotic zombie, then perhaps that is the only option available to me. It is now March, and the day that marks my birth into this world draws ever closer. *sigh* I suppose this year will be no different from the last, which I spent in tears. This year I start off trying to carve a life for myself out of dust and stone. I feel like the kid who builds castles in sand, or on decks of cards, only to have the tides of water and wind shatter his efforts. Time to build from the ground up. My energy high is still roaring through me, and I believe the night is not yet dead. Dying, yes, for dawn is but an hour away. But not dead. How often I have glided from shadow to shadow, a phantom in the night, observing the world as no one sees it. I guess my night time sojourns have come to an end, and it is time for me to evolve yet again into another form, another incarnation of myself. This...stage in my life, I see it as yet another test of the iron grip I have on my emotions. I have too often blended into the background, observing, watching the tiny gestures unique to each person, those that betray their inner characters. Now it is time for me to put my keen observances to good use, but not as a silent watcher anymore. I have not reached my goal, and while it annoys me, I have never backed down from a challenge. So there. The ramblings of a weary soul, at 5-ish in the morning. Now that my soul and the skies are considerably lighter, I will proceed to slaughter demons on battle.net. I hope the angels will continue to smile over me in the days to come. Hmm. I would say good night, but then most of you are already preparing to start a new day. Merde! It's already Sunday! *curses* The proverbial day of rest, but there's so much I was supposed to have done! *curses again* Crap. Time has pulled another fast one on me.
Fugit inreparabile tempus.

Psychic Detachment

I have been up all night reading several obscure novels written by authors long since dead and gone. The subject matter is heavy, the contents peppered with philosophical musings. It is appropriate, since it serves to polish me up like marble, making me feel detached and unemotional. The past few days have seen me oscillating between periods of extreme fury and anger, and the blueness of misery that always accompanies my eruptions. My soul has not yet rested, but today will not see me seeking refuge in a church or place of worship; I do not have the time or energy to mask myself surrounded by zealous dedicates. I spent well over a day resting and recharging my physical self, but my mental self is worn down to the bone. I cannot trust my instincts when I am this tired, and I have no idea how to rejuvenate my soul. As it is, I believe I have to switch to auto-pilot for the day. I was handed a second chance at salvation, but being the strong-willed ass that I am, I scoffed and turned my back. The offer has not been rescinded, however, and it still stands, a veritable pillar of flame in the darkness my life has become. I am surprised at how well I managed to untangle my emotions and identify each one that troubles me. My unresolved love, unrequited after two years, my disdain for blood ties, my scorn for those who are slaves to their emotions. I considered my options, discarded most and came to the conclusion that for the time being, I have to draw my emotions in on myself, like a bat's wings on a cold foggy morning. The power struggle has been fought and won. The cost is high, but I've stated my values, and there is no monetary value that can buy that kind of prestige. I can't breathe without wincing just yet, but the wounds have proven to be more than slight annoyances. Moth to flame, flame to wick. The things we desire the most can often be, and usually are the things that destroy us the quickest. Therefore there is a certain wisdom in detaching myself from such desires. My talk with Kenneth last night has calmed both our turbulent hearts, and in its wake is stillness, if not peace. There are few people I have ever attempted to connect with, and even fewer are those who I actually trust. I cannot deny that recently my sociability levels have been leaning towards recluse, but I have my reasons. There are those who observe me unseen, attempting to unravel part of the mystery that surrounds me like a cloak, and it is partly my fault that my arrogance has become my undoing. I have been so certain that it is I who observe and deduce, that I fail to recognise others may peek into my mind now and then. Regardless, now that I am aware of such invasions, I will take the steps necessary to fortify my defenses. The pestilential migraine will not leave me, and every bone in my body aches. Still, the new day has arrived, and I have to keep appearances up. I have an appointment at nine, which leaves plenty of time afterwards for me to paint over the cracks. I have left many issues unresolved, and there will be enough time for me to tie up some loose ends before the day draws to a close. Chief on my list is how lax I have become with security. *shakes head* I am appalled to find the number of regrets at the end of each day. This is something I have to address immediately. It is a pale dewy morning, and I am already tired even before the day's whirlwind of activity has begun. Still, there are hearts that need soothing, and there are tears that need to be shed and spilled. My detachment will serve me well in the days to come. Some hearts I cannot heal, and some souls are beyond my reach.
Donna nobis pacem.