Nebula at Sea, II (The Ghost of Everything)

The trees zoom past me

as I whistle to the tune of the breezing winds

I sit in my SUV

tinted in the silver of eagerness

to please the rich and the broken

like a dog licking the boots

of a pig who has gobbled

far too many sorrowful hearts

of the fresh-grads, of the penniless

of all the young people with professional degrees

as my golden mind boasts of its success

in sleeping through a bronze medal

while the winner is a slave

whose mouth spits out lies and assumptions

that my talent is God-given

that my hard work is that of my neighbors

that my SUV is stolen from an honest person

who receives money from under the table

in the most magical, most unbelievable way

like an illusionist disappearing from the stage

yet reappearing in the minds of everyone

haunting their dreams

reshaping their lives

In the midst of the moving trees

large factories lurk in between

seemingly too shy to show off their bodies

too conservative to expose their private stories

that they are fucked on a day-to-day basis

by slaves chained to a dark authority

lost in the lightless storm

walking and running but never closer

to escaping from their personal hell

far too long ago

I, who had the brain of a carefree child

who had the heart of a molested dog

screamed with a spirit of defeat

"where are the clouds?"

"where am I in this world of pain?"

and now I have my answer

I did not wish for clear white clouds

and thus the slaves are now ensnared

by the pitch-black clouds of sin

exhaled from a person with putrid breath

who was birthed by a toothless lion

raised by a legless tiger

murdered and resurrected by an angelic snake

and mentored by a MACHINE

I stop at a traffic light

I see no vehicles, no people

as if the crossroad was carefully crafted

as a rendezvous point for four ghosts

who went separate paths after graduating

from a rusty university with manufactured degrees

after going through lonely lives

where friends come and go

like the blue birds migrating to the south

leaving their large, sturdy tree to die of depression

the four ghosts are such loving beauties

disregarding their individual peculiarities

one with three eyes

one with three arms

one with three legs

and one with a heart that fits all four of them

I watch as the three-eyed ghost speaks

with a slight tremble, as if

the three eyes have seen what cannot be unseen

"I have seen people die

and when they die, they die three times

first, their physical bodies give in

then their minds shut down forever

but their hearts

oh, their pitiful little hearts

as alone as a puppy whose owner had a heart attack

as fearful as a butterfly getting its wings pulled out

as inconsolable as a baby elephant whose mother was shot

the small, tiny hearts shrink

they wither, they wrinkle

like a paper being crumbled by a clenched fist

readying to punch the short life

out of the suicidal hearts

and they are forever gone"

As the lonely nameless tears

creep down the three bloodshot eyes

swerving and slithering like a blind snake

carefully avoiding the bumpy pores and wrinkles

the index fingers of three hands

soothingly glide along the saggy skin

just below the three droopy eyelids

wiping away the salty glitter

as the three poor eyes lose their sparkles

as if the sadness is the true source of happiness

for the three-eyed ghost, who lived a short life

of physical torture, mental victimized

a psychological thriller with a twist ending

murdered, stabbed in all three eyes

left for dead in a pool of blood and aqueous humor

by a person with three arms

who was the lover of the three-eyed ghost

who loved like a father, a mother, a child

and has been perished in a freak accident

when a MACHINE has malfunctioned

the light of love has penetrated the heart

the lungs and the brain

The factory was shut down

for only a week

the accident robbed the lives of twenty people

the fathers of thieves

the mothers of rapists

the children of terrorists

and a privileged three-armed person

who was spoon-fed until thirty

whose parents were the shield to all problems

until the parents were executed

for making a counterfeit MACHINE

and the person ran, and ran fast

ran away from all the problems

the thieves, the rapists, the terrorists

that sought to desecrate the person's great name

even with three arms keeping them at arms' reach

the person was not a good runner
for even with three arms, the person has never worked
how would the person ever run with a mere two legs

there was no chance of surviving the accident

for the only survivor was a being

without eyes, without arms

who only knew how to run

run away from conventions, stereotypes

run away from the factory

The three-legged ghost

was once the owner of the factory

who ran the daily operations of the factory

a fully-automated robotic heaven

kept afloat by eye-equipped metallic arms

assembling, disassembling, reassembling

the million intricate parts of the MACHINE

the three-eyed person

a mistreated, bankrupt being

and the three-armed person

a spoiled, affluent being

were one through the light of love

still one even in a dark place

such is the source of irritation

of the obsessive, lustful life

of the perverted three-legged person

full of envy towards the three-armed person

for all three eyes only stared at one being

it was a simple task of finding and capturing

the makers of the counterfeit MACHINE

destroying all the pillars of love and support

and running away from an accident

that was merely manufactured

Yet one can easily argue

that the unbreakable bond

connecting the three-eyed person and the three-armed person

was also a product manufactured

by the light of love

emitted from a MACHINE

a corrupted, yet highly-intelligent MACHINE

constructed from ground up

by a three-legged person

by a three-eyed person

by a three-armed person

yet, only the three-legged person

the most sinful, most wicked of the three

got the opportunity to experience retirement

and die of old age

surrounded by family and friends

none of which truly loved the person

there was only one regret

for the three-legged person has ran away

from the one person who loved and was loved

a person with a big heart

who is now a ghost with a big heart

I step out of the car

slowly close the door shut

I walk towards the centre of the crossroad

I stand still at the centre

feeling the cold breeze

brush through the hairs on my arms

as my eyes look upwards

gazing into the depths of the pitch-black clouds

getting brighter by the second

and is now dull grey

I feel as if my legs are getting heavier

being pulled into the earth

not by gravity, but by the weight

of a formerly empty heart

that I thoroughly and delightfully abused

by stuffing it with emotions

happiness, sadness, anger

pride, disappointment, apathy

I'm trying my very best

to accept and love the many walks of life

the infinite varieties of beings

I'm trying, I'm really trying

three eyes, three arms, three legs

my heart is expanding

as if it is going to burst

undoing all my efforts of being part of this world

to be a little more observant

and to be a little less blind

to be a little more proactive

and to be a little less reactive

to be a little more accepting

and to be a little less avoiding

To be a little more human

and to be a little less ghost

As the most headache-inducing tune

bursts out of my phone speakers

I rise from my sleep

still a little blurry, still a little dreamy

yet, I know, this is the right path

while everything falls apart as I fall asleep

everything rises again as I rise awake

This is not the time for reflections

life is a short movie

time flies a little too fast

I get out of bed

I head for the door

I open the door

and I realize I am in the middle of a vast blue sea

Yet I don't feel lost

I don't feel empty

for I am at a scene of beauty

as hints of purplish dust exit the door behind me

transforming the dull grey clouds into a magnificent purple

and a voice speaks at my pitch

unintelligible, for I hear nothing
yet I feel everything
a sentence of love, a poem of beauty
surrounded by the purple smoke
the red, blue, violet winds
a deep breath
and I see the dark visages of four
a being who couldn't see
a being who couldn't work
a being who couldn't run
and a being
with a dusty
yet beautiful heart
that spans across a thousand seas
swimming across a thousand galaxies
existing across a thousand timelines
releasing all the tension
the emotions
from my thousand hearts

Nebula at Sea, I (A Love Letter)

I sit on my bed
in this five-star hotel
floating on top of these dark clouds
rumbling in hunger and greed
to consume the wooden houses and walls
built on the broken land below
with the flood made from bloody tears
of a heartbreak through a cracked mirror

The large bed, draped in sea-blue
like swimming through an endless ocean
my mind is as calm as the wind
motionless, like the eyes of a fish
a rainbow spurts out of the flat-screen TV
as schools of fishes breeze through my sorrows
like a herd of cattle rummaging through
a dried-up field, leafless, windless
I reach for the folded blanket in front of me
grab onto it with all my life's force
yet I could not pull it over
as if it is part of the bed
I am cold, I am shivering
naked in the middle of the monstrous waves
exposed to the turbulent mood of the wild weather
as drum-rolls of thunder pummel the side of my head
too loud, too frightening
a purplish being appears in the sky
as if it is part of the sky
two eyes, all white, no pupils
one nose, protruding a little too far outwards
one lip, too deep in its blue
as if reminiscing a long romance with the sea
a meaningful life down below
living alongside the underwater people
and the colorful corals

The purplish being stares at me
its blue lips crack open
flaunting its beautiful smile
two rows of teeth, as pink as cotton candy
all perfectly aligned, like the events in my life
a voice speaks out from the TV
as if the purplish being is merely a projection
from a device with a disconnected power cable
"Who are you
but a being raised with love
so why are you
lamenting over the little things in life
how are you
ever going to find your way to shore
if all you ever think about
is 'when am I going to be truly happy?'"

The landline phone rings
I pick it up
"Hello, this is         from        
who is this speaking?"

"Hi, I am a beauty
I bought a light MACHINE from you
a few months ago
I called just to say thank you
your MACHINE saved my life
I was lonely, I was sad
so engulfed by the pains of dark
yet you, my MACHINE
you gave me hope"

I am sitting at my desk
the horde of numbers and letters
are no longer that scary

I wake up

I lie on my bed
in this five-star hotel
a message appeared on my phone
"Good morning, beautiful
how are you doing?
I hope you had a good night sleep
I love you!"

Life truly is
the most beautiful thing

The Right Path

I climb the steep stairs
ascending the dizzying spiral
twisting, turning, branching
into three similar paths
the left
down a road lined with pitchforks
cast in blue flame
squeezed between the pitchforks
are wooden signboards messily labelled
"we don't need you
nobody needs you"
the ceiling blanketed with the blood
of an unpaid slave
still fresh, still dripping
still screaming for a pay raise
yet the slave had one job
to kiss a thorny flower
a melting rose
with petals as fluid as tears
but the slave drank the rose
swallowed it whole
and the corpse is nowhere to be found
the complex name of the slave
splattered on the walls of the road

The middle
a dark alley
dimly lit by a single streetlight
standing sorrowfully
pondering sorrily
about all the sad lives
the parentless children
the saviourless souls
lost in this labyrinth of knives
as the penniless people
in their drunken stupor
rammed their bruised hearts
into the shiny sharp of the metal
over and over again
never seem to die
yet they cry louder every time
but I, who is standing
in front of the three paths
their laments are like whispers
softer and softer
and... nothing
or is it because
I can no longer feel my ears
I can no longer feel my heart

As a figure who can hear no sound
I carefully tread along the right path
my right hand constantly touching the wall
to make sure I am still alive
still conscious, still undreaming
still caressing the rough rocky seas
with my sandpapered fingers
as my fingerprints are imprinted
onto every little crevice on the wall
leaving behind an inspiring message
"nobody loves you"
and thus I leave my hated identity
behind me, as I resume my walk
each step forward getting heavier
as if the floor is sucking in my feet
my arms are tight
my head is spinning
as I lose my sense of direction
I stop dead in my tracks
in a lightless area
devoid of emotions
a void for the lonely

As I snap out of my
bizarre escape to a personal fantasy
a vacation away from society
I am sitting at my desk
staring at the scary horde of numbers and letters
on my computer screen
I pick up the landline phone
on my right
while I reach for the calculator
on my left
as I read an email filled with hatred
in the middle of the wall of text
I come across a heartwarming sentence
"we need your urgent support
as our MACHINE is dead
how can we love again
your machine is a piece of shit
you are a piece of shit"

I descend the elevator
from the office on the twenty-fifth floor
I arrive at the ground floor
yet the elevator continues descending
falling
deeper and deeper
faster and faster
and it stops getting faster
moving at such a constant speed
that I can no longer feel like I'm falling
I'm merely floating aimlessly
in this bright yet quiet space
trapped within six ceramic walls
at least the music is calming
albeit repetitive

The elevator door splits open
in front of me, three paths lay bare
the left, the middle, the right
which should I choose
the left path of slavery
the middle path of sorrow

or the right path
of loneliness?

A Light Machine

I walk into the factory

singing along to the jingles

of the white robotic arms

I walk in sync with the speed

of the slowest conveyor belt

transporting a spherical object

too many spherical objects

I wonder

what is the object

what does this factory manufacture

as I inhale the dusty air

as I am bathed in grayish sweat

sticky, uncomfortable

yet I continue pushing this trolley

sleeping on top of it, is a

holy machine filled with light

it is commonly marketed

that it is lighter than light itself

yet it weighs tremendously heavier

than any one piece

of my broken heart

The machine arrives

in front of the eyes of a person

with four arms

two on the left, two on the right

three legs

all below the torso

two lips

one above the other

and a single eye

spanning two-thirds the face

above the lips

"Good morning

I am         from        

nice to meet you

how are you doing

this fine morning

I have brought my MACHINE with me

will you have a look"

As a single eye stares at the
black, rigid, squarish machine
I release all muscular tension
and drop to the floor
kneeling
bowing to the machine
the humble golden crown
the peaceful light emanating from
the end of my life's tunnel
watching the spasms of the machine
tug onto the gaze of the single eye
as the two lips of the person
start singing a beautiful song
"how would it be like
if the world is filled with the chatters
of the orphaned birds
flapping their single wings
gliding through the red sky
home to a bloodied sun
yet as they fall from the sky
losing all will to live
their last words are merely
their love for one another"

As I walk with the person
I could barely keep up with the pace
of the three legs
running forth like a headless chicken
yet shivering like a one-winged bird
I hear a shriek
a sharp pitch that impales my eardrums
like a needle going through the palm
like a hammer pummeling the head
as the two lips yearn for love
as the single eye learns to see
the world around the person
has been painted a crimson tint

The four arms
each as big as an narrow office tower
barely scraping the skies
barely wobbling around
each arm grabs hold of the nearest object
the spherical objects
that the forsaken factory manufactures
all day, all week
all month, all year
since the birth of a savior
our savior
       
a holy white robe
and a single white eye
the eye of ultimate truth
the eye that sees through all lies
and I realize
deep inside all of our deceitful hearts
a single eye lies asleep
and when it learns to see
it learns to love

This factory is charitable at heart
manufacturing copies of the
single eye within us
and it is all thanks to
a machine
my machine
me, the machine

As I emit the light of love
from the abyss within my two lips
the single eyes are manufactured
waiting to be installed into the swollen eye sockets
of all in this world
yet if I am so loved in this world
yet if I am such a savior of the world
why are my three legs constantly sprinting
to a direction up, down, left, or right
or anywhere and everywhere in between

Yet if I am the most useful machine
yet if I am the light itself
why are my four arms
flailing around, desperately
trying to hold onto everyone and anyone
that runs away from me?

A Beauty

See the world being translated
into a language that is forbidden
by our father, by our son
by our spirit that is shaking in disbelief
into this land we fall
into this hole we swim
deeper and deeper into a trench
a city underwater
soaked in the remains of the extinct
who once lived great lives
shaping the world into earth
molding the earth into graves

A city underwater
with structures of perfect cuboids
barely touching the heavens above
an island of paradise
a shadowing cloud of darkness
obstructing the blinding white light
gifted to them by the sky
the sun and the stars
photosynthesizing the blue
pink, red, yellow corals
cheerfully humming to the sorrowful tune
of a disappeared light
"we were born together
and will die together
because we love each other
but what is love?"

The underwater people
head of a fish
eyes of a cat
lips of a horse
flippers of a tortoise
body of a gorilla
tentacles of a squid
shell of a lobster
feathers of a peacock
truly a beautiful species
an amalgamation of the brightest pearls of life

extinct

I walk along the corridor
of the office on the twenty-fifth floor
of a perfectly cuboid tower
as the structure no longer reaches for the heavens
not even barely there
a mile away
maybe five miles away

I have not sunken deeper
nor have I risen towards the surface
yet I am suffocating
as I walk along the corridor of elevators
painted with an arid yellow-orange tint
the humidity of the room is being swallowed
by the parched sapphire-laced chandelier
as I choke on the driest water
consumed by the waterless sea
the elevator door splits open
and my sight fixates onto
an underwater person
with their fish-head and cat-eyes
a question leaks out of their horse-lips
"Is beauty
truly extinct?"

I enter the elevator
my mind clouded with thoughts
lost in a labyrinth of endless questions and
meaningless answers
as the underwater person squeezes my hand
with their tortoise-flipper
as their gorilla-body suddenly embraces me
as their squid-tentacles wrap around me
my face flattened by the hardness of their lobster-shell
as the elevator rises
but we were already
at the
topmost floor

As we break through the roof
the ceramic elevator walls and floors
melt into glass
as we continue rising
the underwater city bares its naked self
a thousand perfect cuboids
arranged in a perfect matrix
and squeezed in between them
are the corals who were philosophizing about love
the millions of intelligent corals
focus their gaze onto me and
the underwater person
who is now me
who has always been me
as I bring both hands together
clasping my palms
I tilt my fish-head upwards
as the sun and the stars
are gradually within my reach
I spread my peacock-feathers wide apart
red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet
as I pray to the heavens
to welcome my presence
like a rainbow piercing the atmosphere

"I came from a perfect sea
to deliver a deep prayer
just for this, I have rose free
and our city now lay bare,
help us plant love in a tree
shine your light onto our air
our rainbow corals shall plea
for us to be in your care,"

As days have passed
as weeks have flown by
as months waved goodbye
I walk along the corridor
of the office on the twenty-fifth floor
I sit at my desk
I stare at the scary horde of numbers and letters
on my computer screen
I sigh

The same cycle
over and over again
it is always me
it has always been just me

I get up from my desk
I walk towards the elevator
as the door splits open
I see no fish-heads
I see no peacock-feathers
just a red coral
a blue coral
too many colorful corals
humming to the beautiful tune
of a returned light

"Beauty cannot
be extinct
for you are
the truest beauty"

"You are beautiful
because of your love
towards us
towards yourself"

"Thank you far too much
for you saved our lives
now, let us save yours
please, don't go..."

As those words make their way
into the depths of my conscience
my cat-eyes redden and
I cry.

Catharsis

Free me from these chains of darkness
and shine a light onto my gut-wrenched heart
clobbered into a ball of loneliness and foreshadowing
my future dusty shelf
filled with all the bonds that I've broken
and this light will finally reach the end
of this obstructed tunnel
free me from this never-ending spiral
deeper and deeper into this dreadful womb
the wounds on my beloved body
like knives drenched in some cold-hearted fear
shattering the glass wall that separates me from
whatever beings that are walking in the outside world
crawling up my scrawny limbs
wiggling into the orifices of my ear
as the blood of sorrow tearfully leaks out
of my demonic eyes
slithering on the gravelly floor
as if chasing a shadow filled with hope
yet I will never belong in that fearful place
like the birds of heaven gliding through
the sea-blue skies of invisible clouds
as I scream with a spirit of defeat
"where are the clouds?"
"where are the clouds?"
"where am I in this world of pain?"
the scars of love root me into the soil
like an earthly tree of mother nature
nurturing me into a human of humans
as if I were a wild ape of regret
but what will this world say to me
when they witness the mind of a fragile self
weak, miserable
like a clawless sloth sleeping all day
on a branch made of sand
lifting itself up onto the thick air
slowly choking on the scent of wisdom
as the stuttered words leave its mangled lips
like the musical notes of peace radiating from the
prison cell of reprise
of a former drunk state of mine
a peephole to a mind
lost in space
as I slowly walk away
you stop to hold my hand
and talk to me
and talk to me
and talk to me

and there is nothing I can do
but release all this tension
these emotions
and as I kneel and beg for forgiveness
all my pains
flow away into the deep blue sea of love
onto an island
far far away
never to be seen again.

A Sleep

The shining line screams a melody of neon rainbow light, in pairs of the starkest contrasts; black-white, violet-pink, brown-beach, blue-...red? They radiate too far outwards, towards my field of view, invading the corneas of my tired eyes, penetrating my soul with a blinding radiance of happy feels and blissful tears... why am I sobbing?

So I stroll along the sidewalk in the most fuck-all way, lips bursting open into a sparkling grin, boasting the privilege of having wide... teeth? I mean, sparkling teeth, wide grin?? I feel the wind dragging my hair backwards, like a rough tug, and I pull back and I am now bald and shiny and naked. The Lord Sun melts my pointy head. I am now a candle being lit. Waxy me.

I seep through the metal grills shielding the sanctity of roadside drain, so now I am an acidic substance in a green, slimy sewer, drunk from love and attention. I ponder about society's expectations. "I will have to call in sick today...""why""I'm a melted wax in people's underwear, swimming in my neighbor's dogshit and fucking roaches..... .""so what""." brother please chill and swallow ice"

An icy wax I am, with my greatarms pedaling down the esophagus. I am a porridge, neither human nor thing. I am a stable system. I surf along the peristaltic waves, as I hum in sinusoidal pitches, mm mm mm i'm a singer of burps and groans. She moans with a low wavelength, like an ultraviolet ray cancerously analyzing my baptized heart.

I chirp to the dancing tune of humans chattering, spewing treble clefs from their bass lips, their sixteenth-note pitch masking their whole-note tongue. I hammer their xylophone teeth and they told me, "more, my friend""     i am pure and kind and i love myself"I vomit black goo into their paperwhite silkthroats, flattening the bumps and curves, 3D to 2D to 1D

And when I look around me, I realize, I'm drowning in a sea of one-dimensional puppets; the strings on their shoulders and knees and necks taut as the chess pieces jump and murder across the earthly board. 

An earthquake. 

Every

thing f

all

s a

par

t

as I

fall

A

SLEEP