watching/working/waiting

stuck in space.
almost starting,
almost lingering,
almost finished.

That within and without are whys that wait
for familiar pauses.

there cannot be words required.
no mumbling rumble of future analysed.

silence echoes my dripping sweat
endlessly.

beginings. inbetweens. endings.

life, loss, love, longing, lonesome death,
none keep tomorrow safe.

To absolutely no-one in particular (seriously)

You remind me of a bookmark.

expensive, tucked neatly in-between fine papers,

gorgeous, yet never the attention,

formed, without a meaning.

rolereplaced by receipt/napkin of convenient

by the blaseharriedvoraciousevil reader,

banished to favorite (one after virgin) novel

to sit lovingly in yellowing uncoated offset stock.

In books, never the words or the world.

Happy New Year

Thats the way it is for some i guess

find the sweet spot

The incredible stars of twilight

Filler-the awful truth

All together now:

I. Have a camera.

We. All have cameras.

Therefore.

I am a photographer.

We are all photographers.

:p

ok lah their just fans lah, at jack neo's new movie premiere? like 40 of them, all in black with sunglasses indoors, damn paikia.

I scared.