Ruminating on the magic brew, thinking about operatic urbanism which stresses personal websites, maximum real-estate consumption, self-importance and the noonday dreams informed by trees covered in polka dots, along orchard road. The aboninable Mac Man being the nemesis of the modern-day hippy with the mac house opposite the Park mall where your day courses are in full swing. Taking up some kampong glam with promises of magic good-riddance to troublesome wrinkles on the billboards that light up the streets. Thinking about durian the stinky fruit the pc lawyer calls “fragrance-d”. Thinking about a crazy man who is the air I breathe, who will tire of me soon. Thinking also about the Erzebeth, long lost queen to the hungry hungarians, thorough whose eyes, history will never be told. Maybe I am myopic but, maybe true love does rule all. The fat bastards controlling the dollar can go to hell. Urban love, thematic in museums, preaching anime rendering of the mythical quest. Flavors that suit the tongue, mostly that which is acidic.
Patronizing the starlight and hoping it does not abandon me. Remembering the sadness in my house, shortly before which I was pretty happy. Maybe my telling the few people that I do tell, about my obsession with sport, will lead to long-term misery. Or maybe, just maybe, I will be cured of being afraid, all my life.