A, B

Cyril Wong the homosexual poet says: if you can be this sad, you can be this happy.

And, oh, how poignant, how hopeful and how completely scary, because the converse is true too. Alfian Sa'at makes me want to cry, Jason Wee equates words to ropes and ;sdklafnwetiopnsl;ad. I don't know how, or why, or when, or what, or who, I just.

And I hope that oneday, my invisible friend will come to life too.

The colours of summer are green, gold and silver. Tristan Thorn asks the star: why did you fall? Did you trip over something?

Somewhere, all of this, all of this, is like a knife through my heart, or a polar bear on my chest, whatever. I have no words, too few words and the only way is to repeat them over and over and over again. But I shall find them oneday, I shall find myself, then you.

From The History Boys and the reason I blogstalk Jason W compulsively:

The best moments in reading are when you come across something - a thought, a feeling, a way of looking at things - which you had thought special and particular to you. And now, here it is, set down by someone else, a person you have never met, someone even who is long dead. And it is as if a hand has come out, and taken yours.

I slept through the rest of the movie, but this alone makes me want to watch it again. With subtitles and volume turned all the way up. And by the way, Richard Griffiths (Hector the latent homosexual) played Vernon Dursley. O.O

Darling, don't label me and I won't label you.

so not meant to make sense

Do you do it because you can't not? Like a string tied around your heart that pulls. Hard. Like reproduction is spelt into your DNA. Like cats chase colourful beams on the wall. Like how we futilely, aimlessly make our lives bigger than they are.

Are you the better for smoking because you put it into such pretty words? Because your words make me smile? Or because of how you set its context? Is there a point when I separate you from your words? They become you, though. Many other things become you, too. I am sure grammar becomes you. If you were real, in a meaningful sense, perhaps you might scorn my comma. Do you feel the same way about a dash as me? Or is it stale to you like retro is passe (again)? Then there are vowels and consonants but Ms White, I would like to purchase a bit of that man's brain instead please. And, and, and - I don't think you're smart enough to fill in the blanks. Who is it that perches on the edge of my existence, an obligate parasite? Announce yourself. I come in peace.

I do it because it makes me happy. Because some days everything burns brighter and I am impervious to the trivial attacks of daily life. I do it not because I can't not do it, but because I don't want to not do it.

These days it feels like happiness descends like rain - unexpectedly and at the strangest times. I do not have rheumatism so I can't predict it and all I can do is run out with my bucket when it rains, trying to collect as much of it as possible. But at least I can dance round a lamp post like in Singing in the Rain, or sing songs like Raindrops Are Falling on My Head, or reenact silly soap operas in my head with teary confessions set against the rain. At least it's raining. That's an improvement from the gloomy grey skies that have been stuck above my head for the past two years, which I had neither the words nor the knowledge of alliteration to describe then.