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Recent thoughts:
Audience
I was walking on Elizabeth Street in one early evening. A plump, curious rat captured my attention. She was tottering along the shops with her almost broken left front leg. As she approached the display cabinets, she would push herself up against the wall to check out what human greediness is up to. I followed
Overthinking about the fleeting moments of joy that never returned
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Chinese dumpling
I had a bite of this seemingly juicy soup dumpling. Little did I know that it wasn’t soup. It was anxiety boiling up within a sheet of silence that is creasing under the heat. Today is the day. This restaurant near Eastwood train station is humming with couples in their thirties with their kids. They
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Vicarious touching
Sex is hard. My wife rarely smells alright. It seems she has trouble wiping off her pee. It might be a universal problem for women for they have a lot more layers and folds within their system. They also grow more hair, I think, so it doesn’t work in favour of lazy women like my
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Soup
One of my cherished delights in childhood was a cold bowl of fishhead soup. The gelatin glistened around the eyeball, the delicate crunch of the cartilage, and the tender flesh melted like the dreams I used to have. I don’t usually do much on my birthdays. I sit on the blue couch. I play with
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Superiority
I have always been possessed by a grave sense of superiority. I had almonds for breakfast today, six almonds, to be exact. I almost went to the pool this morning, but I decided not to because I’d rather have my six almonds. The fact that I could choose to have almonds instead of going to
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Prefects
Anne bakes the best croissants. Bill cracks the best jokes. I make the best prefect. The smell of chalk mingled in the air as Mr Mark wrote my name in front of the class. Ugh. Smells like the 80s. Sounds like my girlfriend’s squeal when she saw me. Nostalgic and unwelcoming. I had no intention
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Leonardo da Vinci
I don’t always think about death, but when I do, I really think about it. A part of dying is learning that the quality of the things you put on and inside yourself really matters. The horror that I would be buried in threadbare underwear. The horror! Those faded patterns, the elastic that has seen
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