morgueville,heartland living.

i think i dream too much. and i think the world, is dreaming too much.


sometimes the silent words in poetry shatter like sounds in my mind. yet that's all it does. you feel, you become more aware. but so what?


"Poetry makes nothing happen," says w.h auden.


sometimes you wonder if what you are dreaming mirrors your parallel life in the other end of the universe. maybe the shu in the parallel life lives in a world that's almost perfect. (i believe strongly that perfection is hypothetical. flaws are beautiful.) like the sky's blue and the air's cool. where people in bolivia eats well and educated. where my neighbours are gay and everyone loves them. where ban is not a word and everyone practise self-control. where george w. bush is a pot smoking hippie and pot doesn't kill. where i embrace cheena-ism and my own bloody roots. where i jet between new york and singapore, helming films about supposedly inharmonious dreamscape, painting the picture of an alternative parallel world, wondering if everything on the other side is not perfect. where animals run free.
you can dream. it's boundless.



but so what?


earwax: bob dylan - one too many mornings