青い時

They say you have to put a lot of thought into the first few seconds of introducing a character, sort of like how they always say first impressions are so important. For instance, if the character is going to have some major flaw or motto or catchphrase - any recurring feature really - you have to indicate it early on or it'll be awkward bringing it up later. In theory, you should establish the identity of the character and make sure the audience knows all the important things about them within the first thirty seconds of meeting them. But that's not how it works in real life. In real life, you meet someone and, depending on how good they look or what sort of clothes they're wearing, you decide whether they're worth remembering, which determines how much of an effort you're going to invest into scrutinizing the sort of person they are. Then judging by what they say and how they laugh, you make a few assumptions about their sense of humour and character, but just in a broad sense, like a sketch - messy and incomplete. Then as/if you get to know them better, you eventually fill in the blanks with empirical evidence and correct any conclusions that may have gone askew. You can't get to know a person in thirty seconds - it's impossible. And it doesn't help that people guard their actions and words so carefully, mainly because they don't want to give off the wrong impression. You see, the reason people are so careful about how they appear is that they're well aware of that one crucial step - the one where you decide whether someone's worth remembering or not - because that step is the hardest to correct.

---

"how can I describe this sensation to you?"
he paused to search himself, rummaging through an assortment of old feelings, dusting them off and holding them up to the light one by one, trying to cobble together a suitable analogy.
"it's a bit like...      being able to understand a language you've never learned...          or being able to recognize a stranger's face without knowing how"

words are for nerds

most of what comes out of my mouth is either an outright lie or somebody else's truth

---

now we can't even say 'squaw' no muaw

---

I must find some sort of beach or abandoned library to colonize

Samejima

He had always been fascinated with architecture. I admired his fixation, although I hardly understood it

---

his hands kept scrubbing meticulously, but his tone remained flippant
"something big must have happened," he remarked softly, almost to himself
"people don't just suddenly change personality like that."

---

Sometimes I find myself identifying a lot with Tony Shalhoub's character in the TV show Monk, in that his obsessions both glorify and incapacitate him

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he struck the fly with such a violent blow that the sound echoed throughout the polished marble walls and hung there in the empty air, haunting the house with its lingering vibrations

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C.S. Lewis argues that our waxing desires and fickle cravings are just parts and pieces of a much grander question that can only hope to be answered by the joys we shall receive in heaven.
I think/feel/hope he's right

---

- because beauties found in words and books are less likely to betray me
- but they're also least likely to affect you
- exactly

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and then the music stops
the lights come back on
the performer leaves
and the magic is gone

---

writing novels that have already been published

he ain't heavy

Mr. 散漫

If you're always looking to find the trick, you'll never see any magic

---

but why? she glanced over. I think you're a good role-model.

he stared into the sink and then into the depths beyond it
thanks

가을

the leaves are still green but the skies have gone misty
and I can't tell if fall is late or winter's come early

---

O how I wish I could be a tree
and with the last sparks of an ancient ember
set myself alight and swell into delicious colour
a pyre with the blistering allure of the ripest fruit
and feel the radiant flowers burst and bloom
spreading warmth along my timbered limbs
that my dull apparel be consumed
by the voracious tongues of fiery plume
to go out in a blaze of gold and scarlet glory
searing through the frost and gloom
for a moment
before my stars, with a lovely sigh
renounce their place amongst the skies
dwindle faint into eternal sleep
and collect in tragic heaps at my feet
O how I wish that I were a tree
to depart, to die that spectacularly

I never really loved the sunshine

- ya feels very empty. How can u tell?

- Just imagining. What time is it there? 
Weather starting to turn grey, very wintery 
Lovely in a depressing way

- Yes I know wat u mean. Remembr it well. Pls keep warm. Wear ur timberland, thermal underwear.
U r ur father's son! Dad liked bleak depressing landscapes! Give me bright colors anyday!

---

For a while now I've entertained this strange fixation with the moon, but under scrutiny its peculiar charm always seems to elude me.

---

saw the light but not the source, chasing spanish rain; a ghost behind my eyelids, a negative in my brain.

舞台裏で

the only thing harder than coming up with the perfect comeback is not using it

---

do you ever notice the dismal gratitude that haunts an actor's face as they survey the crowd, knowing all too well that their overenthusiastic applause is merely the antiphon to a secret neon command

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no point acting if there's no one watching

---

They love to air documentaries about those who made it to the top, but they never show the reels of discarded film that have been wasted on those who failed

廃虚 / 偽物語

I rose from the dead 
and was an emperor

---

The exaggerated silhouette upon the screen stepped out to reveal a young athletic man in military uniform. Her hands flew to her mouth as she gasped dramatically. Like lightning, she rushed into her brother's arms as the audience cheered wildly for their fateful reunion. Of course, the applause would be amplified and music would be edited in later to enhance the moment, but for the time being the studio audience was transfixed by this touching display of genuine affection unfolding before them. As the emcee began interviewing the girl, who wiped her tears gingerly so as not to smear her makeup, she broke off in mid-sentence, trying to stifle the emotions that had overtaken her. She shied away from the cameras and attempted to compose herself, embarrassed at letting her feelings get the better of her. Somebody backstage called for an aide to hand her a tissue, which she gratefully accepted, remembering her manners despite blinking back tears and trying to conceal a running nose. The emcee and a few members of the audience made sympathetic noises as she sat daintily on the couch and dabbed at the corners of her eyes. She took a deep breath and then smiled like a summer breeze, first into the audience and then at the emcee, signalling that she was ready to resume the broadcast.

---

"You did well today. I told you the stuff works."
A large man in a white T-shirt and trucker hat praised the dolled-up adolescent as they made their way through the enormous parking lot filled with black vans and cars belonging to high-profile media executives.
"It worked a little too well, I'd say. It made my nose run, you know"
"Yeah, I talked to the staff about that. They promised to edit it out"
"Tch. They'd better. Last time I was on their show they made me look like a total ditz"
"You were eighteen. It worked out well for you"
"So now that I'm nineteen they expect me to be hysterical"
The manager didn't flinch.
"People want a show. It's your job to provide it"
"I don't want my life to be a show"
The manager didn't say anything. He didn't have to - she knew her mistake the moment she said it.

They walked in silence until they reached the car. Once they had pulled out of the parking lot and onto the freeway, she summoned the curiosity to inquire upon thoughts that had infrequently plagued her mind, as she lay in her modest bed staring at the ceiling, wondering what was to become of the rest of her supposedly brilliant and advancing career.
"Hey. How long have you worked in this business?"
The manager kept his eye on the road but considered her question.
"About ten years, maybe"
"And how many singers have you worked with?"
"Singers or idols"
"Idols."
Another pause
"Three. Including you"
She thought about that for a second.
"But I'm your favourite, right?"
The manager didn't reply.
"So  when you first started out,    did you have a problem, you know, lying to people?"
      "Who says it's lying"
"But isn't that what you do? Make people believe in something that's untrue?"
 A longer pause
"My job is to make sure people see the best side of you."
She looked at the floor wondering what to say to that.
"Even when you don't feel like showing it," He added
"Doesn't that make me rather two-dimensional then?" 
His grip on the steering wheel tightened. He could tell she was very pleased with her little rejoinder. One thing he liked about ferrying her around - she made for some pretty good conversation, but today he was less amused. His work was not something he liked joking about.
"I suppose so," he said in a tone usually reserved for implying the end of a discussion, but she was eager to argue and wouldn't let him off that easily.
"But isn't a half-truth as good as a lie then?" 
Another thing that separated her from the rest is that she was clever. Sometimes a little too clever.
"Whose face are you wearing?" he asked abruptly.
"What?"
"The face you're wearing now - whose is it?"
    "Mine."
"Really? You're sure?"
She was flustered by his insistence and refused to answer. She knew a trap when she heard one. Nevertheless, he continued. 
"So those are your eyelashes, then. And the powder on your cheeks, do you own that as well?" 
She didn't have an answer. This pleased him more than he'd like to admit.
"The truth is ugly - boring at best. Nobody will pay to see it. Popularity comes to those who can pretend. When you're on stage, people don't really want to see you. They want to see a performance. They want to see something amazing - something extraordinary. That's the nature of human beings: to always want that which they can't have."
She fell into a sullen silence. He caught himself and adjusted his tone. She was only nineteen after all; what could she know.
"We provide an invaluable service, catering to the desires of the audience at our expense. By acting out our roles we're able to give them some small sliver of hope, because the real world is too cruel to spare it. You said that we make people believe in things that aren't true, but isn't the joy that they feel real enough? And the excitement they feel when they cheer for you onstage is a thousand times more visceral than cheering for a character in a movie or book, because to them, you're real. You see, the reason people are so easily tricked is that, deep down, people want to be tricked. They want to believe in love and kindness and happy endings."
"We're not liars." He assured her. "We're fiction-makers."
He stopped himself there, thinking he may have said too much. He stole a glance into the rear-view mirror. She had retreated into herself, gazing wordlessly into the distance. He had learned to distinguish her feigned indifference from her real indifference and knew she had been listening. He left her alone to tend to her thoughts. 

The industry was indeed unfair - exploitative even, to expect these girls to bear the weight of such monumental demands. But they had chosen this path for themselves, signed away their hopes of having a normal life. He quickly chased these notions away - his job was not to think. She'll be fine, he assured himself. It takes them a while, but they eventually adjust - they learn to tolerate the constant attention, and adopt some form of public persona - a second skin to be comfortable in. But some girls just can't handle the limelight; they usually drop out and fade back into the depths of obscurity, but he knew that wasn't an option for her. Her ambition was too great to be satisfied by anything less than success and it would be that refusal to settle that would keep her going. She just needed some time to develop. 
It was getting dark. She tilted her head to face the tinted window, observing the oncoming headlights as they flew by in the twilight. "Fiction-makers," she repeated softly. She could live with that.

colonel colon

I can never quite consider a city mine until my feet have thoroughly kissed its streets

---

you know what they say - aim for the moon, die a frigid death in space

---

Being at this age, I too get chances to see my boyfriends of old times, some of whom've turned into such nightmares!   Well, they probably say the same about me. But I really do see those decayed men often, and how I wish not to

---

with gossamer sorrow, the word left his lips. "Excelsior," breathed he, and said no more

Goose Fair

This year wasn't quite the same. It was fun, to be sure, but just not as fun as I remembered it. It's quite strange really; the weather was much better but still the lights didn't seem quite as bright - in general, I just didn't manage to see as much magic as last year. I remember being surrounded by crowds, amazed by the sheer scale of the spectacle, in awe of the towering rides, assaulted from all sides by the deafening roar of music and the multitudinous screams of joy and terror, mixed with a hearty dose of industrial noise. Since then, I've been completely besotted with the idea of the outdoor amusement park and have been looking forward to Goose Fair ever since term started. But now I can't help but wonder if my expectations killed the actual experience

---

- did you hear about the girl who wrapped roses in medical infusion bags to keep them from dying?
- no, are they still alive?
- hard to say

the spiders have taken over this city

It was a gradual process, like falling asleep. Most of us didn't know it until they had thoroughly invaded our homes and our lives. Nobody knew the exact day the rain decided to stop falling. The showers had become scattered and infrequent, but nobody paid any attention - too busy worrying about their next paycheck and things like global warming. So we left the spiders to their own devices, to spin and be swept away eventually, assured by the simple rhymes that we'd been taught to recite each night before bedtime. How foolish of us to assume that nothing would change - until one day we awoke to discover that the cobwebs had covered us completely

Nessun dorma

Hong Kong is a sprawling, scowling masterpiece - a city confident in her underwater allure, unconcerned by the sudden unraveling of her mystery; who will show herself to you completely but won't love you back

---

But my secret is hidden within me; none will know my name! No, no! On your mouth I will say it when the light shines! And my kiss will dissolve the silence that makes you mine!

bonfire night

False eloquence is exaggeration; true eloquence is emphasis

---

A man's style should be like his dress. It should be as unobtrusive and should attract as little attention as possible.

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I thought doctors were supposed to care about justice

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I really want to drive

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bringing angels into bed to keep the demons at bay, when all the ladies I could foreseeably spend my life with are on buses with somebody else

---

I feel dangerously close to becoming a man preoccupied with style - a man of little substance, who tries to get by conveying the complexities of thought by using big words and shrouding his muddled meanings in layers of flowery fanfare


maybe I should listen to less kpop

---

quick, to the catacombs

연애 편지 / love letters

홧김에 뱉어버린 말, I hate you
그래놓고 맘 속으로 외쳐, I love you
맘에 없는 소리만 하는 나 밤새도록 후회만
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