god hotline


if I had
a hotline to
god I’d

probably bother
him so much
with petty

complaints like
the oh-so-tragic-


that’d he’d put
me on
answer phone

but I don’t
so I guess
I can moan

Day 19 of National Poetry Month. a piece a day is hard! like, follow and share to support.


library papercut


red blood mixes
well with day-old
coffee stains both


sticking my life
together empty
like the disembodied

PA voice telling
me and other
taxidermic masterpieces

(so statically
to leave 

Day 17 of National Poetry Month’s a poem a day challenge. Please like, follow and share to support.

The Cave Part I

He could remember his mother locking his thin limbs in chains. He must have been barely a year old— when he took his first teetering steps. Actually, he doesn’t remember anything, but his mother, who must be his mother because she was chained next to him, told him this every night as a bedside story.


Hush. Once upon a time there was a little boy. His mother loved him very much and every day she would ask the Gods of the Wall to bless him. She hoped he would be different. She prayed that one day, he would stand but not turn away from the Wall. But he was no different from all the others before him. One day, he stood, and turned his back on the Wall. His mother had to chain him. It was for his own good. Those who turn away from the Wall never come back. Only their heads do. Hush. Sleep and pray to the Gods.  


The Gods were tangible. Concrete. They were alive as well. You could see them moving on the walls, their dull grey outlines shifting perpetually from one end to another on a flickering orange canvas. How could you not believe something so real?


The man on the far left of his mother was an Elder. He had owl like eyes that glowed like rubies in the reflected light. He claimed to be descended from a king. But that was so long ago that everybody remembered to forget what kind of king this was. The Elder himself can’t remember. The ferrous memory was made rusty in the river of time, and nobody had the courage to chip away at the flaking surface to reveal the dull truth. All they knew was that whatever king he was, he must have been a good king, as he dedicated his life, and the lives of his family, to the worship of the Gods.


Every day, the Elder would recite the names of the Gods of the Wall as they passed by. He was one of the few people who knew all of their names.


Pot. Jar. Bust. Figure. Vase.


These names were passed from Elder to Elder, taken from the lips of the first king himself. It was during one of these chants that he decided to turn away from the Gods.

 *   *   *

Soldiers I and II walk in tandem. Long line of soldiers slowly walking across stage. Soldier II bumps into Soldier I. Line stops. Commotion.

Soldier I: ‘Hey watch where you’re going!’

Soldier II: ‘Sorry! Any idea where we’re going?’

Soldier I: ‘No idea! I’m just following the guy in front of me!’

Soldier II: ‘Does he know where we’re going?’

Soldier I: ‘Well there must be someone at the front!’

Soldier II: ‘That’s true. These vases and statues are really heavy do you know who they’re for?’

Soldier I: ‘For the Great King! He is the most powerful king in these lands. Our king gives him these things as tribute so we’ll have peace’

Soldier II: ‘I see. What’s with the fire down there? And why are those people chained to the wall?’

Soldier I: ‘Oh those are the descendants of the last king who was defeated by the Great King. That’s their punishment. According to the guy in front of me our orders are to keep the fire burning and throw them our food scraps. If one of them manages to climb up to this walkway we’ll kill them.’

Soldier II: ‘I see. We’ve been walking for days— why haven’t we seen any returning soldiers?’

Soldier I: ‘They’re probably going back on a different route. You ask too many questions!’

 *  *  *


The pastures had a lovely scent
The birds sang and the rabbits ran
The seasons all four came and went
oblivious to the acts of Man


Day 16 of National Poetry Month. Part I of my attempt at re-writing Plato’s cave allegory. Never tried writing like this before, so I have mixed feelings about the results. Hopefully it’ll work out! Part II will follow very soon. Please like, follow and share to support


sketch II


Tiredness is when
finally your schedule
is empty all you

can do is sit
and stare at the
invisible tick tock

of the clock echoing
in the space of your
solitude and your

heartbeat (out of
sync with the world)
is not concerned


Day 15 of National Poetry Month’s a poem a day challenge. Please follow, share and like to support. 

sketch I


The mist came yesterday
and I was made part of an
impressionist painting the light

patchy from a scratched VCR so
old my skin raggedy with broad brush strokes;
if I looked hard enough I could see

Dali’s elephants walking so heavy yet light
on those spindle-like legs, chopsticking
to me a silhouette mess, and yet

I’ve never felt this much of myself

Day 14 and 15 (sorry for cheating deadlines coming up!!) of National Poetry Month’s a poem a day challenge. please like and follow to support

i made a wish

I made a wish:
sat in the field
for the first light

and sealed it in
cupped hands; then
went to collect first

drops of morning dew
added whispered words
and mixed it with

light kisses; then puff,
let go, and see everything
be, as they should be

Day 13 of National Poetry Month’s a poem a day challenge. Please follow, like and share to support.

No Bullshit CV

CVs require so much bullshitting. If you’ve ever had to write one, you’d probably know what I mean. Writing about yourself must rank as one of the most painful processes we have devised to make our lives more difficult. It requires you to look back and cherry pick, not the aspects of your life that you think defines it, but what you think they want to be the defining aspects of your life. More often than not, these do eventually end up defining your life.


We’ve all heard of the terms ‘turning point’, ‘broadened horizons’, ‘strategic thinking’, ‘outside the box thinking’. Terms that, quite frankly, are just empty boxes with vague shapes waiting for you to manhandle whatever seemingly relevant life experience you have to fit into it. Of course, they’d say ‘be creative’, ‘be yourself’. And yet somehow there’s this unspoken rule, this inherent contradiction, much like someone commanding you, ‘be free!’ The unspoken rule, that which, should you break it, will put your CV on a one way street to electronic limbo, is that you must impress us. And that means testing the boundaries of their expectations— too conventional, and you won’t be remembered; too far-fetched, and they’ll think it’s a joke. In the modern rat race we all seem to be scurrying blindly, desperately trying to toe the middle line between two yawning black holes.


Sure, I get it, executives and HR people need to go through thousands of applications. They don’t have much time, and they want to know what you’ve done with your life. Fair enough, so maybe boxes like ‘strategic thinking’ are necessary evils. But they seem to require, and expect you, to fill said boxes with a certain limited range of materials. Volunteer work. Work experience. Academic experience. Internships. Travel experience. Everybody’s lists reads like a theme and variation on modern ‘useful activities’.


And sometimes, if not all the time, these require you to take your own experience and just spin it all out of proportion. I might be speaking for myself, but I still cringe when I read certain sections of my CV. Sure it’s not lying. It’s sugar coating something that’s pretty ordinary. And at least for me, it forces me to pick some experiences over others that were more formative, just because the latter aren’t considered ‘useful’. And that disgusts me. So here, for the little good it’ll do, is my ‘honest’ CV.


Experience: Gaming



  1. I used to be addicted to gaming, clocking 6-7 hours a day easily. Runescape, Sims, AoE, AoM, Civilisation, All Battlefields, CS, All Call of Duty up to MW4, you name it. Getting out of this addiction was, here it comes, a turning point. That’s not to say it didn’t teach me anything.
  2. There will always be assholes in this world. The douche who camps in any first person shooter, the idiot who T-bags you once you’re dead, hackers. If gaming has taught me anything, it’s that no matter how nice the community is there will be that one asshole who tries to ruin it for everyone. Your job is to deal with it in a mature way and not turn it into a back and forth that ruins it for the community. I expect the same will happen in any workplace.
  3. You need to work for shit. Getting achievements and level-ups can be hard and time consuming. Sometimes you just have to sit down and grind.
  4. It feels good when your work pays off. This is my work ethic. What 6 years of Asian hardcore schooling failed to teach me, maxed out skills in multiple games did.
  5. Strategic thinking. Resource management, priority assessment, having a flexible plan, time management. Internships? Wrong. Try playing any Real-Time Strategy game.


Experience: Pranking


  1. Contingent planning. You try not having a plan B when booby-trapping the teacher’s bathroom. That’ll be lines and detention for you.
  2. Strategic thinking (just because they love this so much). For a prank to work you’ll need information on the person’s behavioral patterns and preferences. Market research, anyone?
  3. Leadership skills. What I guess you management people call the 3 Rs. Right person, right time, right task. Well, same goes for a good prank.


Would I ever dare put these on my actual CV? No. Call me a wimp, but I do want (and need) to find a summer job. But maybe one day I will be able to without worrying about the consequences. Until then, my CV will still have in it the pristine ring of work experience, internship, committee positions. Someone give me a fucking bucket.

ritual III


I stand on this pier
watching in fear the distant green light
blinking, an infant peering
for the first time into this world
the thrill matched only by first love’s
whirling waves impossible to grasp
I try but first only comes once
and the tears- sunken pearls-
fall into the sea that stays
utterly, pathetically the same


Day 12 of National Poetry Month’s a poem a day challenge. enjoy, follow and share to support.