From time to time I bury my heart in myself, hiding behind the imaginary mirrors of imagination. Whether I am drunk or sober, in reality or out of it, I find writing as a delight. It is always something new, in it an endless wilderness waiting to be explored. It is through writing I repel my own shadows and find my old self and the new me.
French music and second-hand bookstore. she found inspirations screaming to her in silence, in silence she found her detachment from her concrete self also. as if dwelling in the very bottom of a dark well, she'd think of the distant intense sea, inhaling into herself the equally intense shade of blue.
leaving through the pages of le marin de gibraltar, she thought of the tail of love: the strong, overly intense love that sparked both in the heart of the man looking for a massive change in his life and the woman in search of the lost sailor from gibraltar. a love that would eventually melt away into nothing, into an echo for ever unheard of. it would rain on them, the intensity, the silence. seeping through the other side of the mirror, the love had rained on the girl listening to French music also. she was to undergo a massive change in her life. mais bien sur.
ph by devina
I always think we'll retain our souls here, in the stark-white room devoid of honesty and furnitures. some day later we'll be burned out to the very core of our souls. you always think that I've been writing poems all along, and that all I've written are all secret codes, with realities hidden beneath the surface. don't you know, the line between reality and the hyper-reality has been blurred for a long time now. as the morning light filters through the sheer curtain in the color of scotch, i can see that we are about to be back-washed by some kind of wave, a wave so immense that will transfer us through the walls of our dreams.
close your eyes long enough, and i will open the cover of the deep well to reveal to you the stars, and the half-moon attached to the distant barren sky.
ph by devina and me
Every time I looked at my own face, it was like a reflection of a ghost on a placid surface of dark water. All the time I wished for a drip of blood to bring it to life, but it never came: the pleasure of life never came to the reflection, and to the bearer altogether. I waited for ever, as if waiting for a last train that would take me home but never arrived. I had always thought that my faith had, since a long time ago, gotten jagged along the way. In the dark. In a cul-de-sac.
PUT THE HEART BACK IN YOUR POCKET.
ph by devina
Sometimes I got the impression that we were both drunk, drunk to the world and its entirety. We were drunk, our heads simmered in a sea of thick red wine.
We gasped for sobriety but didn't find it. We had left the world of reality.
It was never there.
It was something out of a world of void, a world devoid of passion and flame. Probably, both of us had lost our internal flames a long time ago, lost in the trail or stolen by some strangers along the way. But that was the night, the night brimming in sheer, silent lights as reflected by the wet streets.There would be no more fiction after dark. The man of fiction had long returned to the harsh blow of reality, the way the real world returned to me.
photography by devina
@VindaSonata on twitter
forever, forever we avoid the past by running towards the future, the thermal city which lies beyond the fictional line, brimming in such wish that current tragedies would never occur anymore.
strong cinnamon coffee and cinnamon tea, a layer of glass separated her from the outside din. a soul floating in silence, the unbearable lightness of being in her hands, her mind bore the lights of a metropolis after dark.
she thought of night rain and cold embraces, and how destinies could neither be redone nor undone. it was a joy in the head, in the back of her head; it was something deep inside that went missing, the longing for that night.
when ideas that base the founding of affection go missing, the affection will perforate and evaporate as well.
the night would always recur in her head, recur in endless repetitions as in the words of Nietzsche.
photography by devina
a tale of personified affection.
it was like defending a heart far away, this link. it was something close to a big humor, a joy of life, a heart that's red inside me. through the line of passing time and the hollow arch of heaven, i left my heart to me. it was a joy in the stomach, a joy contained deep inside. i breathed in the shade of deep indigo, the depth, so sinking it dyed my lungs with the same shade of blue. the amourousness, the continual blasting, the wildest flame, and the silver moon that shone behind my close eyelids, i slided into reverie, my head under the sea of wine. i drank, i took the spirit into me.
never to be sober again.
photography by devina
@VindaSonata on twitter
ph by devina
When you combine two sides of bitterness, he said with his eyes skyward, it is almost as if you’re standing naked at the top of the highest building of this city after dark: you have nothing to conceal, it is as if your entire body suddenly turns into a gush of translucent membrane; you breathe bitterness in, bitterness out, and the tobacco agrees with you. I asked if it was a reason why he never smoked something with mint in it. He said he smoked mint cigarettes from time to time, only if the companion is alcohol, not coffee. Other reason, he said, smoking regular cigarettes gave him impression of growing up. The impression of having nothing to conceal.
ph by dev
she said she wanted to be back in Disneyland, watching fireworks high above the sleeping beauty castle. she told me that she wanted to burst upon seven skies like the lights, and that she wanted to be alone at Victoria harbor during fall, smoking countless mint cigarettes; gazing at the stars, framed among city lights. she wanted to buy an apartment room on the 89th floor and expel the clouds away, for her eyes were the satellites; she wished she was born in a metropolis, because her hometown was way too small to contain her and her dreams. in new year the fireworks would return again, this time near the Avenue of Stars. that night as well, she would burst in flame. her heart would take flight, and she'd be in a whole new world.
-on first attending disney in the stars @ hk disneyland. taken from my tour diary.
thank you lisa!
SOON
