clarity

that said, it's always still a jungle to wade through.

the remaining 31 days, how will you change? for out of the heart come deceit and schemes that stick us up in wrong directions. will our desperation drive us out of line? will these tunes be enough to carry us to the other side? will our hearts be healed of these fresh wounds? will the soul live to tell stories to our grandchildren?

be strong and of good courage.

it's my honor to watch this crumbling fall. that after all the wrongs and rights, you still allow me to walk along and now to chide and remind. i'm content to know now i have found my brother. back from the wilderness of the calloused. that now we have somewhere to go. a journey ahead for a few good years. belief that stood the test of time. a heart that's now redeemed.

makes me dream and ignite new hope. to see new beginnings from this recent death. to understand how possibilities can look like. new partnerships and formations. i'm proud of you. how you've grown up. how you are looking more and more like dad.

i'm here. always. as it was. your guardian. your dependable.

i love you.

nemesis

all i ever wanted
was a friend
a brother more than a friend
a friend to watch my back
a family to guard with my hands

why has it now become so very evil.
that you despise the very sight of me
that you conjure up rationales in your head
of how it all ought to be
of how it ought to be your way
or is there a highway?

i made you a promise
to never stop short
go back to the dark port
dump my body beneath the deep docks
my faithful friend
i want to believe
for i've trained my fingers for so long
all the work and progress we now belong
i want to make it back
to be the best man
part of your blueprint plan.

may this pain never be the fuel to drive me
so i sing, write and archive, still, away
i won't back away
i will continue to be your nemesis
the door of your swinging mat
to remind you of what you once believed
don't throw away the good along with the bad

boulevard of broken dreams

i can't believe it's happened
the way we try to keep it from breaking
it's all coming to pass now
how do you mend a broken heart?

i am helpless and speechless
it's caught you off your guard
even though you thought you saw it coming
but is it too late to mend the seams?

so i swing around the wires
swallow your pride and rage
sit tight and hope for the best
the best of your broken dreams

i watch your devastation
the tears, sweat and desperation
i don't know what to say
what kind of God do we worship today?

i sit, wait, wish for you
that this is just a bad dream
i've never seen you this way
perhaps there's something more you are missing?

and now you're silent
an invisible wall between us
the hand that watched your back
now seems to be shut out for your personal space

so i play the fiddler
all alone on the roof once again
let the music drown out the noise
what noise it seems you ask, are you even listening?

may meaninglessness find authentic hope
may wisdom guide our hands and feet
may trouble break us only to know
the difference between grace and manipulation

34th way

it started yesterday. a scurry of feet and bright sunshine greet. a familiar hand ushered me into the complex aisles where i once laboured. picking up the appliance and a swing by for soft serve in the brisk of summer. we walked home, with our sweet fix, like little kids, for a moment free and careless, like a scene picked out from those feel good children's movies.

like chinese new year. the family dinner. the smell of finger lickin goodness. the bed where i once stood and sang in front of mum and dad. my music book. the scribbles of words to 'rhythm of the falling rain' - pitter patter, i felt like pied piper's peter patter. it reminds me of stories i keep hearing. of routine. of the same thing love does, year in, year out. like the ritual of rites, like the same christmas tree each christmas year, the same red shoes each lunar year, the same pair of white shoes each new school term. I'd rather be poor and know such happiness, than be rich and all alone in a tucked away dressing room. i guess there's a part of me that's still the country kid, the village folk, the simple guy wanting to make it in the big big city.

i wouldn't have it any other way. the birthday song in 4 different languages. there is a gentleness in the spirit of these times. so here's to you, my brothers, my family, my community. here's to another year.

end of the week

it's friday and i don't know what to do
if i can only get 5 minutes of your time
i'd like to discover the precious dime, our commodity

i'm tripping over my wires and cables
finding out the hard way plans don't go as inspiring fables
i'm numb and unwired and feeling a faux sense of capable

we live in lands of opportunity
where freedom knows no immunity
but those whose feet find restless ground
find no part in this holy sound

fowls and fiends gather to feed
whipping our backs to prevent this fix
i'm struggling against the push and pull of these words
will i triumph over these insinuations of extravagance?

when will the day come
when will the mountains recede over the sun
when will it be over the clouds

maybe the hunger will never cease
maybe this, this toil and trouble, will always be

it's friday and i don't know what to do
i don't have a reason or rhyme to celebrate
it's friday and i don't know what to do

i'll do anything to get over this
but for now, i have you, here with me
enough to keep me believing...

typecast

is He irresponsible?
is He the silent type?
the kind that raises delinquents and broken glasses?
the kind that does it in tough love?

are we animals and beasts,
like the grit of nature?
are we here to fight for our survival?
that we have to tear and wear the burdens
to work the garden,
in someone else's curse and eloquence?

why would He speak, grandiose and extravagance,
ideas, possibilities to inspire this penance,
only for the naive to crash and burn?
why would He show us things that could never be within reach,
things that steal our joy, passion and devotion?
why would He be God of all and watch as His children crumble?
why should He be God of us and let hunger be the excuse
to kill, steal and plunder the lives of our brothers?

what kind of a person is this God?

is He responsible enough as we expect Him to be?
is He not the embodiment of justice, mercy, grace?
Or are there insufficient obedient ones listening?
That our defiance has produced such oppression.
That our forgotten hunger has made us too comfortable.
That we find no joy in taking care of the lesser folk.

In love, in consistent grace, will You stubbornly spare the oppressors and let the cause and effect and this vicious fly wheel cycle eliminate those who are broken only with an ear turned toward heaven?

are you God or am i just crazy talking to myself?



http://youtube.com/thecommoncouch

it stings

i should. i know. it still stings. it hurts. i cry and i still don't know. why i sit to the right and leave you the left spot, even though you are not around. it's like you're not here, when you are here. you ignore the language that reaches out. i crumble with the rejection. am i making you uncomfortable again?

i wish. i know. it still is the same. you thought i'd healed. some stripes never lose their spots. i hate it that i name pillows after you. it's these conversations that i have in my room. they are keeping me up, waking every alternate hour. do i have to do this again?

i fall. i tell tales. inside its a cold dark room. i've been waiting for so long for a father like you. the irony of it lies in your inability to show love, the very nemesis that makes me feel safe without having to look behind my back. but why am i so afraid to ask?

i hide. i play it down. i don't know what to say. or how to begin. where it ends or what i seem to want.

i just need you to take the lead. ask the questions again. open your arms when the sun comes out. nudge me out from behind the shadows. stretch out your hands and give this soul a lift. for i am tired of fighting for attention and grace. just so i can feel like a family again.

it still stings. i hope you'll still be here.

30

Few surrounds are turning the big decade. And they say good things come in multiples of the idea. The spring season has brought with it a slew of events, parties, plans that's been keeping me up on my feet, on my sleep, on my consciousness. Hay fever hasn't quite hit yet and I am not expecting it this year. Winter days are over and the warm melt of the sun and light hints of ashes settled in the dust of the earth.

My step forward has taken me places I never dreamt of going. One thing remains from the wear out. This heart that still refuses to make it easy on myself, still choosing to lay it down, love like it's the last day of the planet, still hurting from the wounds brought fresh back from the scar memories.

Has it been a year since my demise? Today was the exact day where I yielded my truant days and stepped in spirit stupor, filled to my mind's eye, flooded with breath test epic disasters. I remember the happy clouds. The brisk night where I sang random made up songs to a japanese girl, and said that I could spend my weekend in the pool without a care.

Yet a year later, when it all shaves off, I am still left with a clear head, clearer than before and a heart that cares even more. Which hurts even more.

I spent my last thirty on bags and bags of stuff from the store and turned them into a party for dinner to love the way I have always done. My heart on the chopping board, my gift in the wok and ladle. Silver and gold I had none, all I have was my hands and words. It made my day complete when it sounded meaningful. I don't know what grace we have both found to be in arms like that, trusting with our backs turned, simple, saying it with more than just words and choice silver. Makes me think I can do anything.

There's much ahead in these thirty something steps. There will be fans, friends, and those who will remain family. In this I am blessed. In this I am chastised. In this I am bound and loved even though I am still undecided between obligation and grace. In my freedom, what fights will I pick, what parties will I suit up, who will I celebrate with, what will i show for?

mind & body

There is that feeling that you know you are going to fall quite terribly ill. The neck is hurting, the eyes are watery, the body is nervous and restless. Yet i will not go to bed easily without being present to my thoughts and what this stir within is to wake me up to.

This week has been the longest. Every waking hour, I am in different postures, on the couch, on my knees, squatting, pulling every ounce and penny of energy to synchronize the efforts. I haven't rested properly since the spell of this freedom. This freedom to be. But i feel like I have abused it and made a mockery with my hands and feet slaved to the plough and chugging on like a train without end.

It takes discipline to rest and say no and shut down those reminders, pop ups and bring myself back to what really matters.

As i walked inside and surprised my best friend, it gave a fright to her toddler son and he started crying. I felt bad for a moment but soon enough, he was playing with my hair, or lack of, looking at me with peculiar eyes, pointing at me with keen interest and sharing my dinner wrap. We almost could not leave the house as the boy started to cry when mum said goodbye for us to head out to some chocolate indulgence. Mum had been home for most of the day and the week and it was a rare treat to get out, eat some fruit and chocolate belgian waffles and laugh ourselves silly over the linguistic antics of a friend's office cat called Duke Orange - The Orangeatron.

Moments like these, I come back to realizing that nothing is quite that sacred. It's all about the relationships we built and the kind of banter that we can have because we fought and know we can just be.

This evening was a rare treat. Right up there with the SYTYCD, SlamDunk nights along with conversations and disagreements and the wrestles that pull and tug and tear at the seams so that the new can be created.

I sleep tonight with thankful hands and a heart un-obligated. May this ache on my blade and neck go away. May the seeming fractures on my knees and back heal with the warmth of the night and the balm of the spirit's whisper.

Feels Better Now - words & melody: Charles Tan

http://thecommoncouch.wordpress.com
Visit the website for more original music.

Feels Better Now
Give me something to believe in
Not just some sunday morning feel good shit
i've got enough of your therapy and all your lies
Now look what you've done

Stop trying to fix what's meant to be broken
i'm a new born human not some crack job case
I know you can tell that everything is breaking down
But how the hell do you know what's going on

Chorus:
I wish I was ten feet stronger
I wish I was a little taller
For you for me for everybody else to see

I wish I was a little happier
Lately i've been feeling helpless
But now that you're here, it feels better now
I am two seconds from finding all i want
two steps away from losing everything i got
why do i always have to screw up all the goodness,
All the goodness in my life
Just being me, i've got too much affection
I know i lose balance and I'm falling fast
I forget who I am, if you can save my day, then get over here right now

I don't know what changed this morning
But when you sat right here next to me
I found the reason to live, to give, you see,
thank you for your copy of grey's anatomy.

I wish I was ten feet stronger
I wish I was a little taller
For you for me for everybody else to see
But lately i been feeling brighter
Seems to me when you're simply here
For whatever that's worth, it feels better now

http://thecommoncouch.wordpress.com

the tree

i'm sitting here at the end of the first day of the week, waiting for my brother to holla and pick me across to home. the sudden freakshow of wind and rain has made my feet difficult to track home. i'm a little exhausted. I'm feeling a little fried in the brain. maybe this is how my friend feels at this hour of the day. the friend whose table i have been using for the entire afternoon.

i have not stopped working since the beginning of the weekend, friday. From editing to copywriting to editing again, I have spent most of my waking hours staying up till wee hours to push the edges of this creation. forgiveness can be a drug that keeps me going and going and going even though my adrenalin has run so low that the pain on my back has come back.

But today, for a long time coming, i can say that i am feeling really happy and fulfilled. it's the feeling that you know what you've done today has built something. like the time you built you first volcano model out of playdoh. or the solar system model you built with ping pong balls and steel wires.

today i felt like i built a small chip in the convolution of the universe at work. I feel good.

haven't felt this good in years.

Was having lunch and conversation turned to forgiveness and the picture of a tree that gives freely because after all, it can still keep growing fruits. How can we be a world like these giving trees?

I'm not making any sense. Perhaps afterwards I might find my mojo back. I need to rest.

curse of a song

How it hits, I don't know. It's not just the melody and the words. They come like an uninvited demand on my life, stealing away the kind of joy that only lasts moments. How is it that a song haunts my life that I cannot drive the pain in my ligament away? Tonight, i wish i had none of these burdens, that I may travel light, pack myself into a suitcase, stored away and only spring to life when convenience calls.

Yet i am more than that. Yet, the voice that cries on behalf of the hurting is the very poison that stings. God have mercy on me. What ransom have you placed on my life that the heavy weight drags my feet now? What are you doing in the centre of this chaos? Is this your way of answering our common prayers? Why do you stubbornly push me to the edge time and time again? Are you not concerned that you might lose my grip? Does it not hurt you that I might derail this highway? Will you not budge when the waters rise and my spirit willfully tests your patience? If you are my father, if you love me, go easy on my pacemaker. I don't trust myself and you shouldn't give me too much credit. For why do you surround me with philosophers to call me to your presence when your presence brings the very absence of company and common ground?

Where are the feet that fill these shoes if common unity is what you intended? What is the meaning in the art of your contradictions?

There's a picture of an empty dressing room tucked away inside an overcrowded stadium. What joy is there to be in a room full of glitter but distant and alone? No tears can ever explain away the depth of the pain. No money can ever buy the medication necessary. No achievement can ever replace the skin graft, the deep tissue, the familiar scent that reminds you of home and a safe place to call family.

What good is it to be on top of the world with no one around?

I will have none of it. I will die a thousand deaths to hang tight on this stupor and squalor. I'd give away all my wealth, my intellect, my credentials, all the miles and storehouses of blueprints and plans. For I would rather be ashes to dust than be without meaning and love. What is another 10 years, what is another 20 years, what is another lifetime? I know I can't win you in this struggle, but you know very well you made me this way and this is how stubborn I am. I will twist your arm even if it breaks mine for good.

So what if you burnt my fingers? I'm already in the eye of your perfect chaos.

For I have come to turn “‘a man against his father, a daughter against her mother,
a daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law— “Anyone who loves his father or
mother more than me is not worthy of me; anyone who loves his son or daughter
more than me is not worthy of me;" - Mat. 10:35,37

subculture motivation

I remember the time when i was still a young songwriter sitting in a gathering of music giants, bewildered with the leadership's decision to disband the production and everything we were doing - all the gigs, outreaches, etc. The reason: we were creating our own club, our own christian subculture. And it had to go.

Where are all the christian bands going to play now? The few of us wondered at that time.

As it was, independent music in my country then was deeply an underground phenomena. Bands found few venues who would allow them to play original music to an audience who much preferred the good old filipino bon jovi cover bands. How much more christian bands in an asian setting, trying to emulate the american contemporary christian music scene of the 1990s?

A few of us created part two of the beginning and tried to fill a niche void to give a platform in the name of art and religion. how wise now, it seems, the original leaders were, given the context of our present day fragmented christian subculture.

i was sitting with my brother on the couch, reading to him the latest follow up statement I found online. I could see he was sad and felt for the man. Yet at the same time, he felt sick with the kind of culture we've created that a man like this should fall with such catastrophic media attention.

To borrow from the wisdom of another from the recent sunday, when a man's gift is amplified on a pedestal, his weakness gets amplified as well. Suddenly, he has to be the example. Suddenly he has to stand for all the right things we should all stand for and when he falls, damn, it hurts. And it hurts like a bitch.

How did we elevate a man that he cannot be human after all? Right now, there are probably men masturbating to porn in my building. Right now, there is probably an adulterous affair about to happen. Right now, someone just lost control and pregnated his girlfriend of 2 weeks. Right now, a minister is about to kill himself because he feels like he is a failure...

Someone once said during one of our 'brainstorm' community meetings that we should pray for God to shut down all the Club X/Porn Lounges. Well, you know what, I am glad we are a country with porn lounges. Yes, it exploits women, and men, but I'd rather be living with an open palm and engage with the messiness of my humanity than do my part and shut down, shut out, flat out live in denial. Just because mum and dad and the world and their friends expects it.

Where is the beauty of our God given choice, if all we're doing is living by the faith of someone else? Where is the space to engage, to fall and stumble?

i don't want to live a life of ignorant abstinence.

I want to be able to tell dad that i am fascinated with porn. I don't want to be consumed by guilt and be held captive by it. I never could be honest and talk about it and work it through because my folks, bless their heart, never knew better. They only knew the law, not realizing there is another life called grace. So it was that as a kid, my explorations and confessions led to sheer condemnation and shame.

How will the next generation grow up, know they have their free choices and are safe to make them? I wonder if we never engaged with it ourselves, how much more would we when we have children looking up to us for pointers?

Reminds me of the movie, Clockwork Orange. Which also reminds me of a pastor who suggested shock therapy might be the way to go when i confided in him on my confused sexual orientation. We don't need shock therapy, it's everywhere. My mum almost dissected my ass when she caught me with my pants down. So it ought to be that every time i am aroused, i will remember the pain of the cane on my ass and in so being, i'd be rid of the sin?

How did we get here? How did we create such an oppressive culture that we need to be clean, holy and white washed? So much that we're afraid to talk about it, afraid to even admit to ourselves we have an issue. We take on pseudo facades and play the part. We live like the law dictates. Love your neighbour, don't hate. Love God with all your heart, don't do this, don't touch that, see no evil, speak nothing.

Not surprising that cancer is a cleaner story than one of addiction. We are all to blame for his lies. We placed the man on the pedestal and give him no room to be weak and be honest with himself.

I remember i told a lie to get out of the marching band when i was 13. A lie that I was diagnosed with high blood pressure and wasn't physically able to take part. All because i was afraid to tell the teachers, my officers, that all i wanted to do on a saturday was take part in the drama club, the shunned, lesser school club that was for the soft, nancy pants.

Now I'm grateful this community's forefathers made Romans mandatory memory verses for the young. The law is structure, guidelines, rules, dos, donts and lots of dots to join. They do not produce life - our knowledge of good and evil, what we know to be right from wrong, is not enough. Yet, grace is a dangerous thing. It has no boundaries. It just gives and gives and gives before we even need it - foregiveness.

I believe God is shaking us of our subculture - our false expectation on those we call our leaders. Our one man leads us all into inspiration from the days of Martin Luther. I believe God is taking us back to the days when the church began - simple communities that love each other, work things out, selling their possessions to feed each other. I believe God wants us to work out our weaknesses and the things we lack within the setting of a true community. Not a faux community that erects men as pseudo shining beacons that make us feel so bad about ourselves that we stay inside the line.

Maybe all we need to hear, is that, it's all right, you're human.

heel and toe

the week is beginning. all of 70 minutes into a new week. the morning has begun but i haven't had a chance to snooze and nest this sore bottom. the snowboarding effect is still sticking. overcompensating on alternate limbs is indeed causing more aches than what I'm dealing with. my brother said, just step through the pain and don't allow the body to side step.

i don't know what to expect, except the spirit is nudging with a sense of expectancy. maybe its just me not knowing what is going to happen, coupled with a sense of ongoing freedom and knowing that somehow, the bills have to be paid and ways i have to think of outside the square to stay the responsible second chance i have grown to cherish. i can count down the next two weeks till my vault is empty without a dime, even with my entrepreneurial 'stocktake eBay sale' plan.

rent, the one thing that makes us work our backs to almost exist. do we ever own anything?

At the heel of it all, i have no plans. But i do know i am focussing on buying time with the new workaround to lay it down. And hopefully, the work i do will provide a payoff. I'm serious. Like a friend once quipped, I've paid with my life so far. Time for payback, would that not be fine? Seems like I've been quoting this friend quite a bit lately. Ah, the school of smart asses and the intellectually unsatisfied. I'm so blessed.

Been watching too much delayed TV lately. It just chews up your time. But it's the kind of time i wouldn't spend doing anything else. Just because of the company, my brother along for the conversation. i'd do anything as long as love is in the house like a blanket, like a partnership, like kinship, like blood. everything becomes meaningful. songs get released from my heart. every bit of creation becomes relevant, my ears become attentive, my spirit inspired to move, extend, focus, trust, walk. Things I have been guarding jealously.

i've been scratching the surface to find a piece of heirloom that evidences my heritage and future. not that i have made it happen for myself, but i have found grace in the most unlikely of places. yet again. i am not surprised that God is taking me to the great unknown. as long as He knows, i will be present. i am. present.

His love endures.

On another note, in the reflections I heard from the few musicians post Sunday, surrounding the Guglielmucci story, it occurred to me that if we do not know how to be accountable, at the very least to the spirit, the beasts of the earth will make sure we are accountable to the world. That, is the extent of God's grace over our lives. For that, I am grateful.

His mercy endures.

an afterthought on lies

I am sitting here, like the rest of my consumption hungry world, feeding and scavenging on every piece of news about Mike Guglielmucci's fall from our man made pedestal. I feel sick in my stomach. Not because of what he did, but that i stayed up late to dig the last 24 hours of google crawls just to satisfy my own itch on what feels like a scandal.

We all fall from grace and it is a mark of missing the point that we shovel through the thick to lick the same candy over and over again.

I'm reminded of the conversations with a former romance surrounding the Old Testament. Solomon quips there is nothing new under the sun and how very true yet again. We are visual people. We need to be satisfied by the pleasure of our eyes. History tells us that a celebrity centric culture already existed before the Haggards, Clintons and Holywoods. We bite the hand that feeds us, we ask for kings to rule over us, to tell us how to be, handsome beautiful human representations of God to be our point of reference.

The world is hurting and the world is talking, some making wise conversations, while others need to keep their mouth shut. It ought to bring us to a listening point to where our worship lies. Now it makes sense when i think about a fellow musician who was uncomfortable with the pedestal limelight on his incredible talent and would rather sit at the feet of the word and work out the heart of his devotion. It may have been selfish but what otherwise would he have been feeding?

Which brings me to consider all this music and the meaning of my investment in times like these. We write, either as authentic expressions or for purposes of extension. Others may employ the means to line pockets for a living. I don't think there is anything wrong with that. I don't even think the problem is authenticity of the writing, the idea, the heart or the talent or ear of the creator.

The problem is marketing. Which is what happens before distribution.

Here's the thing. We want to be sold. We want to feel like that million dollar soap powder will bring us enlightenment - this idea of inherent value. We want to feel prosperous, filled, full, insatiated. We want to be told lies, stories sensational, ideas that scratch our back. Our forefathers asked God for rulers and kings and judges to lead us and rejected God himself. Marketing is a brain child of our desires. We want it and we will pay big money for it.

I was sitting in a personal development conference many years ago and they showed us a video of a social experiment. It was simply a youtube footage of someone giving away a $10 bill to random strangers and nobody on the street would take it. Skeptical, fear, etc? I remember thinking to myself how it was possible that no one wanted something free?

Put a little spin on it, pay someone to talk about it, package it, tug away and if you position it right in time and space, you can price it anyhow you want. That same musician i mentioned earlier was telling me of a recent story about an iPhone app that was sold on iTunes music store for $999. It did nothing more than pop up as a really nice and intriguing eye candy screen saver. And 8 people paid money for it. A thousand bucks for a screen saver. These are the days where perceived value is as good as a smart ass wagging shoe maker.

Or clever rhetoric as some call it.

We are surrounded by partial revelations, pre-packaged promises and distilled fabricants leading our nose by the carrot dangle. May we be prudent with where our wages go, where we give worship. Above all, let us guard our hearts and minds with understanding and choice consideration. For prosperity, really, is godly wisdom, trusting in a Grace laced Original creative Designer. May we learn to listen to His spirit, free from the filters of our modern day compressors, tuners, electronic enhancers and hollow graphic drugs. May we return to our humanity and beauty that is of a broken and contrite spirit.

an empty bell

what does it mean anymore? that His love endures forever. when all we've got are ashes, empty rooms and a rainy season. it spells of a heart calloused and caught up with the cares of humanity, too far ahead to find it's footsteps home.

i'd give anything to come back to this place where i'd be truly happy and content.

trust. even when everything around me makes it difficult, makes it so darn hard to believe, i have to trust, that this God who created me, is working things out for me. that goodness and mercy follows me wherever i go.

i don't want to stay in the i don't knows and I can'ts. But what an empty wide space i now have before me? What do I fill it with? What do I do with it? Do i fill it with anything? The answers are not clear.

my heart is restless. wanting more. more. more. but i tarry in the waiting room, wondering if the doctor has forgotten my number...

and then, half way between putting my thoughts together, catching up with a close friend online, i was alerted to this piece of news that is already sending shock to a considerable sized community world wide.

I'm not sure how to take this. Some part of me is skeptical about the article but so far, most independent media, blogs and such have pointed to the authenticity of the claim that writer of the song, Healer, has attached a fake personal story of his struggle with cancer.

I'm a little shaken, well, pardon the pun, it wasn't intended at all, but I am not entirely shocked. I know too well my own human condition to pick up the brick. It could happen to anyone, Ted Haggard or not, Bill Clinton or not.

These are the days where we need to be reminded to come back to the heart of worship.

May life abound in these times for Pastor Mike. May his ear still be attentive. May his heart still be open to the chiding of the spirit. May we learn to lay our lives down, in spite of the meaninglessness of these troubles.

open season

I've hit a gash in the road. well this is the second. this time, i made the choice to walk and i am walking dry now as it stands. i lose my cool, on the one closest to me. and it's not cool.

i wish i could take it back. but part of me wouldn't have it any other way.

it's like something in me always goes looking for trouble. am i restless again like it was in the 1990s? i never meant for it to come across that way. God knows what damage I have done with you. I'm really sorry and I hope you can still trust me.

there's a bland bitter taste in my mouth trying to sort through them job ads, plowing through every cover letter and discovering dust and cobwebs on my resume in need of attention. it doesn't help that those foreboding voices in my head is louder than ever during this time. and some moments i give in and my head caves, the past comes back like an eager sex drive on my heels for news and calamity.

I've survived so many storms before, what more this one?

Except, this feels like the calm before the storm. Not even close. I'm sitting at the brim of it, engulfed with fear, not knowing, just really silent, in case i miss out on the voices that will bring me hope.

But what am I waiting for? Why do I wait? My neck is sore, my lower left back is stiff and my body is in so much pain. I'm waiting for the arrival of equipment to bridge these technical gaps. Things out of my control. I woke up this week wanting to put all of my soul onto the digital bar, track every nuance and capture each lingering mood. Only to find them interrupted by buzz bleep click pop intrusions and noise, the result of low voltage transmission. Or at least how i figure it to be.

I know there's always going to be snags on the way. Not that anything owes me my time, but something I would rather do without.

So now I'm musing, inside the new cafe that sits more like an art museum chic club, trying to gather my strength and do something productive. Like hunting. Maybe it'll come to me, my realignment, now that I am out of the place I spent the last 48 hours in.

Something in me still yearns for a short message to tell me it's ok. But the more i say it, the tougher it gets. That, is the currency of real love in action. I just have to keep believing and trusting.

I will be better. I will get better. I'm just, not there yet.

keeping up with the jones'

it's been almost a month since i put my pen to paper, his electronic type pad, that is. i'm feeling lost even trying to edit my thoughts here. i guess losing my job has taken a lot out of me. been writing much poetry lately, mostly in my head, afraid to put pen to it, for fear these nightmares come to undergird all the equilibrium herein.

what am i so afraid of?

i remember saturday night, the scene before the party. my tear stained face pressed against another, the warm glow from the ears and hands adding another dose of healing. i treaded carefully, wobbling clumsily on unchartered territories. places we've never gone before. this is all new. but this, this, is a good beginning.

times like these i wonder why i am still here? why you are still on the couch with me? why you still haven't walked away? why you still trust me? why God's still in love to have His hands and feet hold me in these unlikely times.

who am i that You should be mindful of me?

i've listened to them voices that accuse, condemn and twist. i've stopped singing because i was afraid. now, it's a scary thought to think of what is ahead. i'm afraid to pick up the guitar, for i know not what i might write, that might be a prelude to a journey less travelled.

but some things never change. and this one thing is the one thing that cuts the cake for me.

so to hell with the jones' and their nice dresses and shoes and status quo. i wanna be known for the songs we sing all through generations. songs like nursery rhymes that speak of His glory.

give me this day my daily bread, literally.

listening party

so it was, that i could not sleep till 5am. The events of the evening left me with courage that sat me up all night.

i sat in my brother's room, typing away, adding, clicking, putting together my annual obligatory tax matters. for some reason the regular pain on my back became a deep hum that felt like a soothing healing balm sitting on my spine like a warm glow.

"i was really glad you stood up for yourself and fought me," he said.

there were the familiar tears in his eyes, the ones i made question on their integrity. but i knew they were familiar because i have cried these tears before. those things in the past that inform us for who we are today, reaping the differences in the relationships we invest in. it is painful to hit wall after wall in our stubbornness to try and fix the world. i'm grateful we have each other on this journey.

it's like an epiphany. like facing up to the aggression of my dad. taming of the beast they call it. the beast really, is our fear. my fear.

well, i'm glad you charged into my room when i slammed your door. i don't know what recklessness i had to find the voice to speak up. i hope i didn't damage anything.

there was somewhat a release. a huge rock off my heart. i found my peace with God. the struggle i have held up for so long have come out in an overnight tussle. i felt delivered. there was a freedom and my feet was light as i picked up the alleykat to worship. i'm glad we pushed on in those 20 minutes inside the parked car before we headed for sunday's business as usual.

finally, i found my voice to sing again. there's so much to tell.

may our listening aids still work. may we never grow weary of love.

taming this wrestle

i apologized profusely as you angrily walked out the door. in hindsight, it looked like you had your last say. and it occurred to me i have always indulged you that way. maybe it's the instinct in me, maybe i'm just too soft, maybe i just enjoy the attention in your bully.

friends have warned with wise wisdom. this indulgence will do no one any good. it has taken me so long to let what lies underneath all the crying, anguish and my framework of love to say what really needs to be said. it has been eating me away to watch your defiance get the better of you.

tonight was the perfect example of how you would rationalize everything just to get your way.

i know it is difficult to hear me say that I don't believe you when you say you are sorry. for it comes too quickly. too conveniently. all the time. and just like you said, you would rather take the blame so everyone is happy. when did it become such that you need to save the world? you said you don't want to be condescending, well there, you just made a perfect spectacle of it.

i believe your ideals and intentions in the gesture of the apology but i don't think you know why you are sorry. and you only say so because you want the both of us to be in peace. isn't that sweeping it under the carpet? isn't that just plain not listening?

no, not to me. but to what the situation is trying to tell you. or like some may say, to what the holy spirit is revealing to you. to the state of your heart.

i hate sounding like i'm lording some spirituality over you. i know i gotta tame my tongue and i'm sorry i slammed your door. my bottled up frustration lost it's cool. tonight my grace hit a negative measure and i'm sorry i hurt you.

i'm really sorry but i love you this much to fight you to the ground.

some days i'm frustrated because i realized you have lost your leadership. you get swept about by the whim of your fancy that is guiding and informing every iota of your decisions and choices. that i look on with grim anxiety to see you lay everything down in the name of love, rationalizing it, framing, manipulating it with ideals of faith. what informs your faith? is it the holy spirit or your desire to walk down the golden road in the arms of your fair maiden? the line is so fine, somedays i believe every word you say. but there's never been peace in the trouble of these times. where is the holy spirit's leadership in your life? how then will you lead us, now that you have become king?

i am not there yet myself. so i am not judging you. i am questioning. challenging you with questions that I've been afraid but need to be asked, meditated upon, to bring us back in alignment to our spiritual ligament. are you angry now that you are reading all this? is your head spinning with defenses and rational ways to be right again?

someone once told me they have no respect for those who go from mother to girlfriend to wife. i stood up in your defense for i believe you are still becoming.

the irony of it all is, that after all this, you are still rewarded with a warm blanket and sweet love in the distant chamber to last you through the night, while prophets and priests sit painfully through the deathly silence and wait for the morning to bring back the dead to life. Who is this God we worship? What kind of a God is he?

well, look who's talking? i get swept about by your whim and fancy too. for i told myself i am not going to leave like all those who have left before. now, perhaps, you understand why my leadership took a fall and i can't quite sing to lead the congregation the way i did before.

ah, the things we do for love. defies all logic, faith and rationale, our double edged sword. i have no idea how i am going to rest tonight. What is it that you want from me, My God, My Father, My Shepherd?

different seasons

i never counted nor concluded on courtships and the courage that went with it. but lately those sweet sixteen movies have come to a slump. what used to be an endless annoying song, that season of love, friends disappearing into their love nest, is now a season of break ups and some, epiphanies on their journey so far.

i remember a wise godfather of this bunch of boys once said, that the whole idea of courtship is a journey to a decision on matrimony or not. or not. we need to pay attention. i have once fallen prey to the marketing messages that love is forever, is in the air, is, at first sight. lately, all my friends who found lovers in their eyes have now come out on the other sober side all single and separated. the ones we all thought were walking down the aisle, the ones we held high hopes for, now surprised or shocked.

there is a season for everything under the sun. a season to harvest, a season to sow, a season to uproot and go. a season to rest, a season to listen, a season to meet, plant, graft and grow. may grace find us in our decisions in the face of what we romanticize about the future. may we never believe that our lovers are all we need. for it's a lonely place to be when we come to the end of the road and find our bridges all burnt and irreparable. may it be so that we find our families in the light of our trespasses and trials.

for one thing's for sure, nothing is for sure.

say, it's just different seasons. reminds me of that song by johnny hates jazz i used to belt out in the hollow of my neighborhood stairwell, earphones, walkman, the world staying still for that 4 minutes.

anytime now

i've survived many a storms like these. ridiculously long drizzles that inflict more pain than the skin to those thunderstorms out in the sea, man overboard, capsized trunk and all. but i still find myself washed up time and time again to these painful shores, wondering if mercy ever will come, if my heart will stop beating, if i could ever be normal like everyone else. i'd give anything to be happier, brighter, smarter, cruel.

i know. i know and i understand. things are different. things change. i don't blame anyone for it. i just can't get off this carousel. i'm stuck and everyone needs to move on. somehow i remember those movie scenes. the ones where the victim gets trapped by sinking sand or the swamp and mud that swallows you whole it makes even the python jealous. it feels like i have my head over the surface, just enough to breathe, but not enough to feel my limbs, turn my head or look up to the sun. halfway between heaven and hell, perhaps this is how it feels. if there really is a feeling of heaven, ever. days like these, i start thinking i don't need to be around. i'm angry enough as it is.

did you know the nights get colder when there is only one body to heat up this joint? did you know it dries everything up and this place becomes a mirage that could kill any desert wanderer? did you know everytime you leave, something in me dies. yet, i can see the effort, the reaching hands, the calls just to check in on this patient, your patience renewing everytime you come around. you still my anger, you stoke my fire, you shake the frost bite off my shoulders, you won't let me go down so easily. i'll promise to try, but i keep hemorrhaging, keep losing it with the silence, the dark night, the hum of machines that carry no company of love and routine.

give me this day my daily dosage. don't stop revealing to me the heart of the matter. go easy on me. i don't want to miss a thing.

food

it's the one thing that surrounds us. a common denominator that equals all color, language or difference. and as asians, chinese people we are, we gather in the warm campfire of brunches, lunches, coffee, dinner or supper. and every morning or afternoon tea in between.

i spent my day with two coffees, brunch and a visit to the bakery.

as i sat in the post mix of the morning's interview, the clumsy toss of spinach, nuts and poached eggs sitting on the little ciabatta, made for more thought than food. i'm reminded once again, of circles that turn like wheels, coming back to kiss and whisper grace like the soft morning rain. no doubt, it was a blizzard this morning. but old acquaints that have matured into a deep kinship wine bring warmth better than a leather seat could.

i sat next to a giant, taking in every piece of wisdom, listening and pondering at his feet, realising, that I'm not the only one thinking about growing old with my mates and with those i have grafted into my heart thicker than blood. maybe that's why on my train ride to the burbs, it felt like i was returning home. we don't need a train wreck to bring us back, no, not all the time, no, not this time. my heart started singing again.

how many ways can you spell love?

I could count the phone calls, the long dinner conversations. I could log every piece of advice, put up every embrace like pictures from an old relic museum. those that wait by the bedside till the body is willing to sit straight. those who laugh and cry and never stop fighting with you and letting you have your way all the time. those who let you go. those who take you in. those who defend you. those who die for you.

my life is bought by the hands that held high in the ransom room, saved by the stubborn bell of love and belief, now waiting behind reins that can't wait to be released. i'll sing, archive and publish, just to say thank you. just to say, i love you.

frames

i watch your shadow leave the room, swing and wash through the corridor and witness the scent of your used shampoo filling the void that was once empty. i don't need no heater or regulating conditioning, cos you're here, inhabiting this place i have temporarily found to be home. home to a heart that needs safety, warmth, strength and that old school attitude to wield the sword and shield like that movie, 300. i know, it's just a romantic notion and it will pass. why is there a double standard in matters like these?

so i gather my fire wood, like the possums and squirrels and meerkats, dig, scavenge and burrow, to store for the cold seasons ahead, when the sun holds insufficient warmth for the months ahead. i capture still frames of goodness, courage, the father figure, the captain of my shipwrecked vessel, my home delivery of love and grace, to keep a memory of you, should time take place to make distance the fonder reminder of kinship without blood for water. i edit away, through late nights, under hoods of artificial light, archiving the perversity, my sanity, your brevity, watching you traverse a thin line of law & grace, life and death. for death you say, is necessary to bring life. i'll try not to think in memento verses of freud and his friends.

where this may take me, i don't know. but time waits for no man, certainly not for me a man with a limb and a paralyzed anatomy. i don't know if it will all come tumbling down. i don't know if grace is enough to save me from the overwhelm. but i'll make the best of my remaining years. to make sure what i leave behind brings life and gives you and those you find love in your heart to embrace, enough to be, till a ripe old age.

may wine do more than bring us fleeting moments of joy. may healing come from the years and the hands that made it all possible.

counter strike

it's all in the same bag. counter intuitive, counter productive. counter everything. why would someone give their word only to turn around and say, oh but there are conditions, can you sign here and here and... i hate it cos a lot of the trust that i thought i had from the get go of someone else's suggestion. turned out to be a flabbergast swat of ubershit. it sucks cos even when the offer was made, there are all these strings attached.

distills to this one thing. that there is still no trust. NO TRUST. Not enough to have to say it again and again, that this is for community and not for personal. since when have i been purely personal. of course, i stand on the outside, crying like a widow's brickwall and it's easy to be misunderstood. why is it that there's so much i have to do to prove myself? to prove that this heart still beats and bleeds not because of my personal driven agenda but the groan of the spirit? i'll put it plainly, you cannot separate what God has made me, i come in a full package, damnation shit, curses, fuck wit cuss and all.

don't trust me. trust my God who placed me in front of you. i don't expect a full spread on a gold platter. i ain't clean like that. but when you think about your promises and the power of suggestion, think about what you are holding back. put me together with the rest of the go getting opportunist out there and you'd be making the worst mistake. for all you know, this anger might just push me to join them. for i started that way didn't i? is it then my nature to go recreate and pick up where i left off?

don't need nobody's favour. i'll do it with whatever i have. so you have no claim over this. not that this is for my personal glory. it's just less painful to have to deal with the sound of dragging feet. generosity in this context is such an insult to the spirit we preach about. fuck this.

flood

i sat in the shroud, watched as my eyes welled up with tears, the dancers miming away the pain and drone of our modern beasts and machines. animatrix is really a vein of revelations. i wanna watch it again. there was a hush in the room. something about performing art that captivates our imagination. stating the understated. i need to go tell the dancers that they moved me, deeply. So much that it prepared me for my set.

bassman came up at the end of the night saying it was our best yet. and talked about recording and stuff. like my brother says, be faithful in the little you are given and the people will come. I'm seeing a glimpse of it. Much easier than trying to cast vision and throw a motivational spiel in the middle of a four way conversation. Just do it and the rest will follow.

i must say the weirdest comment i had was this. that i sound like paul simon.

Paul Simon. PAUL SIMON! PAUL freaking SIMON of Simon & Garfunkel!!

To be compared to the likes of modern pop icons that i listen to extensively is one thing, for you can tell they'd obviously influence my sound. But to be compared to an artist who has stood the test of time, created genres and innovated shifts in music & culture is quite another.

makes me wanna pay more attention than the inspirational documentary i watched about said musician.

the choir was magical. when they appeared into the foreground light on the dance floor, there was a warm cheer from the crowd. something about how the song was arranged to have the choir walk into the light played a key role in bringing the song to another level. something i hadn't quite foreseen, but definitely envisioned. community is perhaps the one word that could come close to aptly describing what it probably was.

my brother reminded me a while ago on why i write & sing. this is the beginning of songs that may span ages and generations, songs that we take to our campfires, songs we sing when we are down, songs we sing when we celebrate, songs we sing along the journey when things get tough. songs that carry us into the next juncture of hope. songs that speak of the fingerprints of the creators love. little stories we can pass on to our children, like our favourite folklore and fairy-tales.

i want to write these stories. be paid for it, but not just quick fix drugs that help people forget their pain and misery. may these stories penetrate through the thick of our alchohol, the lies of our denial and the flood of our corporate marketing noise.

may we come back. to the heart of worship.

replay

it feels surreal. its like the moment where you know you need to just get over it but you know you are just about to. that light drawing so close it is almost blinding you. is this real or am i just once again deluded? may my mind be captured in grace.

i remember the first song i wrote on my guitar - the Congress my bible study teacher handed me. the one with the black nylon strings. classical. sweet tones. i remember lying on my bed, plucking away at every open string and let the strings sing and resonate. i fell in love. i found shapes and chords and keys that made sense. and that one time i 'performed' at the tiong bahru apartment, hacking my way through chords i thought fitted with the songs.

i never quite owned a guitar even though i played extensively, until i shelled out my savings to buy my first yamaha APX. those little glory days. and soon it was takamine, a few flings with the ovation, and now, there's taylor.

but as far as i can remember, the Congress wrote my very first, based on Isaiah 42, 6 - 7. NIV. Word for word. It's funny now that i seem to have a neck to pick up scripture wholesale and write melodies over them. real perculiar. started with a whim when i led our sunday morning worship - sang/rapped Psalms 24 over the chord progression of Enter In preceding the chorus. Then came Save The Day, my frustration at the genre selection of modern day psalmists and made my own version of Psalms 120 & 121. And let's not forget Psalms 23, the shepherd song prelude to my pending bankruptcy.

then came Isaiah 32, a suggestion over camp at easter to co-write a song to leave behind for the next generation. like they say, roll with the punches. Made For More became a humming tune that took me by surprise. It was then Forge weekend, and a series of requests for the song to be recorded so that other communities could sing them at their regular services.

tonight i sit at the heel of the week, wondering, what all this means. I am deep in the water, wet with mixing down hours and hours of songs written by our community, recovering from a long week of getting the choir together, teaching the chorus to a song i only finished writing at 2.00pm today, putting it all together at 3.00pm, in the same afternoon, to what will be the finale anthem for Seeds, our 2008 Annual Dinner, over the coming weekend.

my brother says, the fly wheel effect doesn't slow down. it can only go faster. will this spin out like a lot of the ones before? all i know, is along this journey so far, i have been surprised by grace, stumbling upon people who find space in their hearts to lend me their strength, who come alongside to colour the music, willingly, without any hang ups, resources who find their way to my living space, and the relationships that formed as a result.

i am rich though i am poor. i am resurrecting though i may be close to losing my job. i am surrounded by grace and close to understanding love though my heart is still angry and wayward at times.

as i look back on that cold morning, all alone in the basketball court, praying and seeking, those sweet 16 years ago, this looks like a glimpse to what the answer might be.

who's to say what makes or breaks? who's to say what makes me wake, for in the morning, I'll still be breathing.

watchman

i stay up late. watch, as we each go to sleep. watch myself crawl underneath these sheets, to pause and listen, the recent heavy breathe and close my eyes to the lulling rhythm that brings me peace. just for one moment. one night. one evening. i am grateful that i am considered. that you still believe, after all my failures and regrets.

there is a conscious mind shift i struggle to make, day by day, sometimes, moment by moment, that you are now different from those long lost days. that the hope you now see carries more faith than my heart can believe. that you choose to sit through the pain with me. that you will not allow me to close the door and run away. that you will fight me till it bleeds and breaks us all.

thank you for lending your shoulders to me. i never knew this day was possible. you showed me courage in the face of danger. you won't and probably will never say it, but love is stronger than a few short lines of affection. thicker, than blood. i'll remember your promise to re-member me.

you, too, are a gift. a precious gift.

so, Jesus, watch over us, your little ones. May we stumble in the dark to know your grace. May we find mercy in the face of chaos and unrest. May we never grow weary to fight this fight and run the race.

the fire of faith

if there is such a word. a word that may describe the intensity, whatever they call to be this journey, road less travelled. my heart races a hundred miles and slows in a split second to reveal what lies beneath. all the courage, mistakes, heartaches and things that still shake me to my core.

days like these, i grow weary of the fire of faith.

it burns, reduces, mostly to tears, no matter the stubbornness of any man. no matter the callousness of any heart.

as i stood in the wake of the shower head, my vision drenched from the mist and shadows that took a while to come out, i walked through another episode of awakening, seeing in the foreground, those who have gone ahead of me, leaving behind ribbons and signposts to guide this late soul.

hope, wrote itself on the condensation of the mirror, embracing, giving.

may i not be blind. may my mind find rest in the shadows of safety. may my centre be rooted in justice and belief. may my core be shaken, time and again, to bring me back home to where it should always be. may i learn the ways of the world, may i find wisdom in my wrestle and struggle with the beasts of the earth. may i live, long after the world is said and done with me.

may it be so. yet again.

weight

you don't know what comes next. you just never know. something is stirring, a discontent i am not quite convinced to call holy. for i have my insecurities, my inadequancies, my demons, my pitfalls, tendencies, temptations and snares at my heel... but something is stirring, groaning, for much more than our little content warm huts.

woke up this morning, with a new video idea, involving just about anyone in our community.

in an email to a friend, whatever i wrote, brought me to a listening point...

"...the hours and nights spent just for a product that spans a few minutes of someone's listening time that might possibly change them forever, bringing them to a listening point, perhaps even saving their lives from apathy, suicide, oppression, deception by the present day beasts and machines... the profound weight we have no idea that's resting on our shoulders. God have mercy. God deliver us."

a chorus came racing into my head that sounded so right, that even the guitar was humming along to the soul within...

"don't let the weight of the world
rest on your shoulders tonight
don't let it weigh you down
He's got it all in His hands
Cos you ain't God
you ain't your story yet..."

or something like that. this new brew feels like the theme to AD08. More than what I had intended before. with the idea of a seed, germinating, our stories all a part of His tapestry and history. this new direction sounds like the anthem i had dreamt of. i can now truly hear the choir!

i've got my hair standing on ends with an out of body experience. God, would you write this with me?

so it turns, a cycle familiar. i'm sitting at the beginning of a series of little projects and sessions that will eventually stitch together to form one cohesion to pepper the flavor of this one event. as i sat before the LCD, i found myself stopping to taste the goodness that has crept into my life.

willing accomplices, comradeship without a dragging feet, i seem to have stumbled upon not just a window but found friendship in the common denominator of our emotional and spiritual language.

it's only been several hours but we've tracked a short verse chorus and a full track for that song over easter. i can't help but smile in gleeful contentment to hear the full bottom ends that need no compression. ok, maybe a little. but the lounge room has turned into an acoustically suitable pad to capture the energies of a live set.

i can't wait for the next day and for the rest of the month and year. I don't know where this is going to lead. but the learning curve has taken a eager steep climb.

and just as my hands got a little wet. a friend sends me

Thursday, May 29, 2008

this mercy

i hate this spot, this pit stop. that i come round to it when the band aid gets ripped out. that it still tells me that i am not completely over it. that the many nights of supper and good company still hasn't completed the searing pain that comes from a moment's absence. that those 9 months of waiting out in a jail cell for the return of the king, still has its dancing shadows over me. that these are but shadows but these are still the realities that hit my shores like weapons of understated destruction. that, if it is jealousy or envy, i don't know how to cry about. its still hard to breathe and to get used to it. that my heart still has problems forgetting the pain of the cold walk in the dark, crossing busy angry streets, to go back to an abandoned hole that's mutated some form of insanity in me. the very things that i need is the furthest of reach. that i cannot see, even with all the faith i pray intimately at night, believing that God is big enough to let risks run its course, that i might find myself turning into a pillar of salt, grey from yesterday's baggage. that this abyss and deep groan has gone so far down into the rabbit hole that i lose sight and hope to believe it will ever be replaced with goodness. for even short messages, phone calls and sweetness of gestures have done nothing but momentarily delayed my anatomy from flaring up in a leprous rash. save me with the very things that i am afraid of, the very delay that has taken a long time to embrace, save me from my imaginations and tendencies. for this day, i am only holding on to the goodness i can see and touch, at my wits' end, to tide me over.

and then, dinner arrives, just in time, with a corridor conversation that set my feet onto another launching pad that smells of a familiar love and grace. may this not be just another distraction. may it take more than a song in my heart to save us all.

listening aid

that it tires my bones
to hear this well packed out
well eloquent moral of the story
where did my patience, wonder and amazement go?
have i lost the plot
lost the love i have inside of me
that it feels perhaps that i am all empty inside
unable to cry
watching nonchalantly
listening to what sounds like another round of rationalization
manipulation, bent, so it becomes convenient
so the conscience is easy.

where Oh where, is your first love?
where Oh where, have you sold your dreams?

that now, i find it too painful to remain faithful
loyal, and watch your back.
i am losing it again
a second or a third or whatever this may be
to find your ears still deaf
your heart still stone cold
your flesh still louder than the cry of the spirit

but who am i to play God?
who am i to you anyway?

if i walk away, will my shadow leave with me?
if i stay, do i wait in self righteous anger?
for i am not complete myself
not even any step ahead of you
for i have my own demons
and i am still deaf to my own pride and ego
that i am still living in the very of sin

i lay down my sword
time and time again
but this night
the pain reached a new depth
that i am once again an over used recyclable canvass
that i don't know how i got here
how i am just a blemish on your windscreen
how i am just a sideshow convenient dog

that i want to matter more than just your punching bag
that i want to be more than just your fall back when you fall down
that i want to be acknowledged and spoken to, not just when you feel like it,
that i want to know my existence is important to you

so, in this epic episode,
why do i feel like i have been crossed?

not too long ago

instructions on my walls. figures and pictures from the sketch whim of my crayons. frankston. the pain on my back that wouldn't go away.

it is getting cold again. my feet scurry to find the double quilt to warm my toes. i dream of warm days when we all shared a common blanket, laughing at the dinner table, like we were family.

something brings me back to those days. those days when i sold my car right across from the apartment building, next to a police station. that some friend of old shared his bookmarks with me, for some reason, means almost the world to me. made me stop and cry. makes me pause in my tracks and hear the wonder of my body still breathing, a heart still beating. something about simplicity and gestures like these, gets me. just does. maybe i should try not to read too much and make meaning more than what it might actually be, to protect my heart from loving again, from giving, from hurting.

maybe we're all grown up now. maybe. just, maybe, the off chance that circles do come round in a pay off sort of way.

may our hearing aids still work.

spin

the feeling i get when i leave the deep blue on a cold night like this. i love these little moments that extends into a strong interface of a spanner thrown into the machine to cause it to stop and take stock. my listening point, probably number umpteenth.

it's been two years, or so i remember, since i first stumbled upon our new theology of resurrection and understanding God for who He is, rather than His set of dos and don'ts through the stories in the bible. It's probably the years of brain washing, according to mum, that i am unlearning so many things on hocus pocus and still having so many questions. it's the dual questions, like ravi zacharias, in this book i am currently reading, "why does it feel so wrong when it is supposed to be right?" you can work out the other question.

that was probably why the levite's monastery had to be archived. i never knew why i did it but the instinct, or the spirit was urging me to. now i know. that ancient stories are meant to be archives to inform us of the heritage, the meaning, not as a photocopy of who and what we should do. for after all, we're called to be human beings, not human doing, as a pastor puts it ever so glibly last friday evening.

the tricky part is, we are not told what to be. it's already written in our DNA and these stories provide a blueprint to go on a journey to discover this. And i guess, the journey is the being, learning and becoming present to the now. meaning, we're never called to be clean and holy.

i can hear the guns cocking and the christian watchdog snippers ready to pull the first trigger.

am i heretic? the question that floated around was, "does God have a problem with it?"

Does He have a problem that we do not use capital letters when we refer to him?

Does he have a problem that we will fail, and yes, he knows we will, the minute we walk out the door into this bad bad world, outside the pristine, marble white washed walls and choice timber pews?

Do we spend a life trying to do the right thing? Do we spend a life escaping from the danger of failing, disappointing the 'friends' and 'congregations'?

David failed. Solomon had many wives. Peter denied Christ. Three times to make his renunciation a definition. Many lied. Many died. Many killed the wrong people in righteous anger. Many were unclean.

I'd like to find a story of one who was blameless.

So as i surveyed my own past and wonder how it will pan out in the light of the cross and what is to come, i almost shudder in fear but realized this fear is found on what men will think. Who my friends will be when my heart is lured in the face of success, glory and good rolling times? I never cared about where God is in all of this. That, in all my doing, He will still be my champion, my Father, my beginning, my end. Even if flames come burn and find out who my real friends are.

i am a little grateful that i have a few good companions who can see past the guidelines and condemnations. i am glad that we're all learning to be human beings and not play God.

He is the only one who will judge, who will snuff out, or let live.

This, is my first step walking in faith. This is the beginning of my dangerous story.

What then is my faith?

22:22

bach makes my aural senses heightened, sharpens my instincts for thirds and sometimes lower fifths. it is strange listening to this violin, trying to engineer my mind and ear for a tune up. our bodies are magnificent organic machines and i'm learning how to make the best use of it for the purposes of our created intent.

i've come round full circle so many times. that the mind is better over the matter is an abused overused opportunist phrase found in motivational philosophies. one day, i actually do see myself becoming a motivator. it's the maximiser in me working hand in hand with a less than common futurist.

today i lived in the present. woke up to breakfast at what used to be my favourite cafe, made myself unbelievably uncomfortable under the shadows of giant jocks and hoops, face smacked by a hard throw, learning new social genres without words involving only body contact, speed and competition, watched maroon 5 and rediscovering their sound with nandos on the side and ended the day with a dvd dinner and couch and my brother along for the ride all day. companionship is sweet.

now i'm sore in places i haven't ached in a long time. it's a good feeling. but, ask me again in the morning.

that it is gold to put yourself out there in unfamiliar territories to stretch the human state of being is so true. for the first time, I played some serious pick up game today. indoor, nonetheless, it was intense. half the time i was trying not to look like a fool and the other half, trying to remember what my brother/coach taught me at shooting hoops over easter camp and now staying present to his game time directions in the court, "where's your man?! mark your man, watch your man!"

I want to learn how to catch rebounds and play my defense well. I had a taste today, experiencing for the first time all the talk over bursts, short spurts, possible injuries, game intelligence. shuttle run in those fitness test days never looked so relevant now. it's like learning a different language. i think i am reveling in being unskilled and unknowing. i'm glad that i'm not doing it alone though.

which is how i feel most days at my new job. keeps me on my toes, a healthy sense of competition and sufficient pressure to keep me learning and picking up new things. And it helps that from management to peers to work culture, there is tremendous support to fail forward and know it is a safe place to make mistakes in this zone known as, to quote my manager, conscious incompetence.

i feel like tea, now, actually. And watching Slam Dunk.

night light

it's a dim one but bright enough to illuminate this type pad. i don't know how to say it but the indigestion is representing something deeper calling out. how could i be crying in righteous pain and still be the very stubborn of sin myself? i am learning, though i don't know what i am understanding. unchartered, untouched and unwoven. this is perhaps my humanity reaching to fabricate what i can only imagine. commitment is a heavy thing. and i marvel and fall in love with the boys my age who find the innate capability and instinct to give and gravitate towards women who cause them nothing but trouble. that they would lay their lives, dreams, and so many at stake, just so to spend the rest of their lives centering their hearts. not just for the sex, i do believe, in the few who have taken risks beyond religion and radical faith. they inspire me, draw respect from me. yet, i fear women not so much what they will take away from me, but the unfounded decisions i might make along the way that will leave them hanging like widows and wind blown willows. how many will i maim before i grow up and find my iron and fist? i still haven't got it figured out yet, but the ones who are still figuring it out are finding arms and love to run along with. so i turn to my visual pleasures, my easy drug on grey street. sleep in the post of a tired beaten body instead of another emotional episode of watered lungs and a choked out throat. may i find renewed strength in the morning to fight, meaningless as it may seem, and find my reason to keep breathing, giving, even if a lonely road it seems i'll tread.

thursday since

it came down to king of kings. the old restaurant that is a piece of melbourne chinatown heritage. the first meal in march 2001 when i arrived. as i sat in the empty, surrounded by gold chinese decorations and lanterns, my cravings for my favourite soy sauce egg chiffon rice reactivated.

so much has happened since and like the promised change of season and weather i have believed in, i am sitting at the eve of my first sunday with the electric guitar with new effects waiting to sweeten the morning. it's been more than 6 months.

like the maturing of cheese and wine, it seems my journey with my fellow brother has taken a shift of depth. since my failure at ending it with pills, the chiding and outbursts, it seems my heart rate has taken a slow waltz. i think i might have come out of the undertow a little wiser, older, guarded with fear. the kind of fear to know there is an element of unknown but find peace in the chaos, stillness in the eye of the storm. a growing confidence in seeing the other hand joining in the clap and allowing the faults to lie not just on my shoulders.

i'm grateful. to walk in the shadows of ogres and brutes and listen to their hearts and souls instead of jocks and juvenile smart asses with a quick instant remedy that lasts seconds. i know i am loved. i know i matter. i know i play a big part in shaping those around me. i know i count. i know my mistakes can do good.

i am listening.

morning has broken

the curse of bourbon street
the rites of animosity
the day breaks and draws out the poison
i walk into another room
take shots at the sink below me
and find my body still healthy
not even a tummy ache or a hangover needing of a cure
no nightmares of operating tables
no lost feeling of falling into an abyss
just a really peaceful uninterrupted night
like resurrection this morning
it has taken 53 blue, white and brown
to kill the mocking bird
to rest and recede an eternity in 8 hours.

commune

you've never cared. so why should you this time. your eyes are fixed on the prize. the one you asked for as a 15 year old. now the cream is ice cold and enticing, you want to have your cake and eat it. and so should you. so should you.

i'm an inconvenient coin sitting in your breast pocket. for what used to be a lucky charm, what used to be the useful spare change you can never do without, now, you can't wait to empty it out. i know i weigh heavy and i am a burden. and it doesn't help i can be easily missed and i get easily sensitive. i know there are some things i cannot change. i have always wanted a brother like you to help effect this change. but time and again, it has made your life living hell. no help for me, good old stubborn me. why do i try? i have no more faith to see it through.

so i will make this easy on you. tonight, i bow out so the light casts on you. please do not seek me in places you cannot find. please do not grieve for what you are not used to. it has never been natural for you to try and be, so why try now? you've never grown up that way, you've always had your own way. so, i will let you have your own way. for when the blood dries and the sheets are changed, you will move on, you will find your bridges to live on. know that i love you. i have always loved you. and that is why this is my last script, my last epilogue, my final hour. you will forget all this. you will find happiness. you will live well. goodnight, and goodbye.

go, eat cake. eat well.

decibel

tonight, i can’t get to sleep again. the rain clouds have parted and the skies are clear, leaving a cold crisp night easy on the body to rest and reach for the sheets. my mind goes back into a time machine bomb again and it ticks away, blood and drenched veins vividly playing in my head, shadows playing hate mail games with me and it brings me back to 1983.

the year where discovery begins with a perverse foot.

so i spent the rest till now and possibly all the end of my life searching for the missing pieces. trouble is, philosophy and christian education has given answers to understand how the dots join and lead to the deep longing for affection missing or in this context, twisted, in those impressionable years. it’s my disease and my personal strife and it’s not fair to seek fathering from those who have no blood obligations, nor is it loving to put them on the spot to get out of their normal routine and comfort to embrace lepers like me.

so how did i get here to let me heart beat again? did i not crucify it along with christian education and spiritualism?

i am stuck between it all. Between seeing what could be and where my lack is mutating into. I’d put a bullet to my head now, so I can stop the harm and inconvenience I am and will continue to cause. why God, did you have me walk this road less travelled? why God, if you the loving father that you are, would let me take these twisted thorns to graft into my flesh and leave me hunched and all lame and rejected by mankind? that if it is just me over imagining it, then why do I malfunction with women, and men, and be confused with search for my father? why would you let me suffer this meaninglessly? I cannot comprehend how love goes in your context, for, to be honest, i seem to be living in the polar opposite of the short stick end.

Is it so wrong to desire the warm security more than my pillow companion can give? Will you end my beating bleeding anatomy and lay me now to sleep?

1983

i was probably getting myself into some serious shit that I had not anticipated. to be honest, the medical examination at school left me, the 9 year old, a little more curious than my shorts could hold.

i found the mirror more fascinating than usual on a hot afternoon after school. i dropped my undies and decided to examine myself, pull, stretch, grope, flick, put puppetry to my curious anatomy, and see what else I could discover. As the saying goes, shit hits the fan, i noticed through the corner of my eye, a familiar face looking over the high wall over my room. It was mum, looking furious, as she discovered what I was toying with.

she reached for the cane, the lot, and spoke her judgement. pevert, sick bastard; all creative imaginary twisted words and labels lavished generously as the cane came crashing and whipping. i screamed, cried, scuttled to the corner of my room in my nakedness, in shame, groveling in pain. i don’t know what happened next but all i recall was a helpful douse of chilli sauce finding its way up my anus, fingers pushing past, pumping, driving deep the burn into my body.

“you will find burning joss sticks and incense up your ass the next time i catch you playing with your weenie again!”

my sex education was complete.

love, they say, is tough. spare the rod, spoil the child. tough love, indeed, my arse.

freedom

unchartered, these territories. new places, strange faces, new found fear from some era of oppression. these questions now finding feet and answers. they are unspoken. untold. hidden under sheets and covers. we don't talk about it, for it may come as a a stumbling block. all this bubble wrap culture now we are dismantling. all my fast food garbage pre packaged vomit. i'm learning, painfully peeling off the labels and idealogies passed down from those who have gone before, to try and fix this land and make it a holy sanctuary.

we were made to run free, we were made to rule, reign, we were made to make mistakes, take calculated risks, exercise the wisdom and faculties He has given us. what will my hand put to work today? What meaning will I create to find meaning and connection in all these relationships and this balance thing? I just want to belong. To take my chances, fire my shots when I see them, for I never know what may be the lesser of the two evils. Freedom does not mean there is no pain.

I'm learning, watching, learning, following, watching, learning, day by day.

skin

why am i so damaged to need your affection so bad? That it consumes me, that the denial leads me down gutters that feed me junk to satisfy the starved heart, that the convenience of moving pictures makes it easier to get through the night, only for the morning to wake with a deeper mutation.

i remember when i got my first set of whip marks on my arms. that humiliating burn on my ears more painful than the wounds.

some days, my imagination just want to provoke you to draw your fist. at least the drawing of my blood allows my skin to interface with what lacked in my formative years. but this evening, your lingering scent in the living room looked promising. or perhaps i am reading too much into purposes never intended. i wish i was better, easier to handle, low on maintenance. perhaps you are regretting giving your initial attention. i wish i ceased so you may go live what you believe you see with your naked eye.

how did i get here? how did we end up this way? how long can i last? when will i lose my mind?gonna be irresponsible.there is no such thing as salvation.love don't live here anymore.we're all left alone to drown in our own devices.rest in peace.

last night

thought i'd have thrown in the decision to derail it. nights been tough, sleepless, interrupted, thoughts and threats giving me speeches and seizures all through the hours. i'm crowded with pillows, tiger plush blankets, an overused quilt and the corner of the room, tucked away, wrapped in warm tin foil, ready for the bake. ready, for strength, for resolve and the breath that trickle down my shoulders, except it's all in my head. prayers and incantations, all crazy such surrealism, of a smiling affection, a cavity of safety, my eyes blinded from all reality, incubating and waiting, for healing to rub it's balm all over this bruised batter.

starvation, hunger and this famine, all too familiar, all too obvious. but none of these hands, friends, know where to start, how to begin. they know why, but are they listening? Are YOU listening? am i praying the wrong prayers, asking for the wrong things? If my instinct be so raw, my body becoming so primal, why do you tarry this wait, this, is this my fate? Why will you let me down this path the way it is doing now?

Give me this day my daily patches. Till the next moment to keep me breathing on.

changes

there's a murmur and the sound of occasional flipping of magazine pages from the other room. i'm still feeling a tad overfed from the big bowl laksa, tea and soya bean milk. my heart sits quietly, racing but still, in comfortable peace as it recovers from the conversation in the deep blue. how many days and months has it been? it feels like a long time ago since i sat at the feet of a warrior, listening to courage, smell the killer instinct and resolve few dare to dream of, and be inspired. it is a privilege I am constantly grateful for.

"that's why i look up to you..."

these are moments when time stands still, my world and all the distracting noise shuts up. and i find my bearing as my attention is commanded, captured and contained. it's like finding respect for the first time, to stand in awe of a giant, realizing that there are some ordinary people who are larger than life. that these saints and legends do exist and I am standing in the turn of tide and time, witnessing the harnessing power of the Father at work, watching His fingerprints marked all over our humanity, His grace, hope, faith demonstrated in the ones considered to be the least by the world's standards.

"you won't change, i know you won't..."

my hands reached out in love, to share in the pain, to share in the resolve, to give honour like a military gun salute. i watch in amazement, taking in the moment, listening to every nuance, taking mental notes, following the step and rhythm of this raw diamond in the cut. i held my breath and my tears and let it sink in, the healing, etching one more brush stroke onto my tainted canvas.

"i'm proud of you my brother..."

it's strange but when i consider the long nights, the repeated prayers, the stubborn belief, the thick skin resolve, it occurred to me that my trust in my sovereign God isn't that misplaced. That He strings it altogether, in His time, cos we are not quite His story yet. Cos we are still learning and breaking all the time. He is still big enough for our stuff up, screw ups and stiff shit.

And as I remove the bandage from my wrist, I'm learning that, Father knows best.

drown

that picture took all of the guard and left me drowned in tears on my desk, powerbook closed, sleep light glowing. why does this haunt me day after day, all these happy families, reunited, in love with one another, who will lay down their lives without a blink?

i think about my big brother. how he's laying down his life.

i am not sure if God is who I trust anymore. is it funny to YOU that I keep getting reduced every time a picture of grace and blessing meets me on this road. I can look away, draw blanks in the sand, turn to my drugs and wayward down, but this does not let me go. You don't let me go. How is it that You love me and deny me the very foundation blocks that will draw the bridge? I cannot comprehend and perhaps I am still caught up in religious romaticism. what is it YOU fucking want from me?

so near, yet so far. so close, yet so distant. so in love, yet so abandoned. please stop whispering that salvation is round the corner. take my blood from me and draw from me the life that YOU gave, for I am wretched, unworthy and unwanted anyway. snub my life from me, make it quick, make me sink and never a whimper ever to be heard. for i never want to be remembered.

fix

it's wearing out. this fix. i draw the blinds and curtains so no one sees the scars and scratch on the wrist. this better not be just another time out. i want to watch all the movies and screenings and live inside a make believe world because my reality is just too dumb fucking hard to live through. hasn't life always handed me a stick? now i still am walking out in the rain alone, to the cool of the jazz music not really doing anything but stick up for me like a plexi sound barrier to keep the folks in the other room safe in their nest, undisturbed.

so here i am alone again. with no hope of the warm hug ever surfacing, for since these many weeks ago, this hospital bed is abandoned, forgotten and left conveniently rolled out of sight. i know, i am inconvenient and perhaps it is time to give it all up and throw it all in.

but something says, not yet. not yet?

Save The Day

Recorded Live at Carmen Tong's Album Launch as part of the opening set on 22/02/2008. Thanks to Sarah Ann Tay. Featuring GuoJin on Drums, Seong Lee Ang on keys and backing vox, Devon Vong on Guitars, Grace Chin-Lenn on Acoustic, Rodney Chieng on Bass and myself on vocals and guitars.

Adapted from Psalms 120 & 121, this is one of the song of ascents. I often wondered what a modern day psalmist would sound like when they scale their mountains and valleys and what melodies they'd put to these ancient poetry. This is my interpretation, certainly reflective of my personal cry in so many parts of my journey as a son learning to walk in the shadow steps of the Father. This is "Save The Day".


I lift up my eyes to the hills
where does my help come from
It comes from the maker of heaven and earth
The maker of my soul
Oh yeah the maker of my soul
Oh yeah, Oh Yeah the maker of my soul

[Verse 2]
i call on the Lord in my darkest hour
and He answers me
He has delivered me from my fear
and he hides me under his wings
Oh yeah in the shadow of His wings
Oh yeah, Oh Yeah in the shadow of His wings

[Chorus]
My God, My God
How awesome is your name
My God My God
How awesome is your name
There is no one else like you
No one else who would save the day

[Verse 3]
Save me Oh lord from these lying lips
those that contemplate my soul
Save me oh lord from these meaninglessness
And these shadows that cower over me
Oh yeah, won't you come and save the day
Oh yeah, oh yeah, I'm crying out to you.

[Bridge-Verse]
i searched for the Lord in hour of rest
and He quiets my soul
He has delivered me fro my fear
oh the Lover of my soul
Oh yeah the Lover of my soul
Oh yeah, Oh Yeah the Lover of my soul

high

it's effortless, this high, to be on cloud nine. last day at work, new career on monday and a kick ass set to play tonight. 250 pair of ears. my biggest crowd down south so far. it's been almost 10 years since i picked myself up to do a show like this. i'm thankful for carmen's album launch, the new strat, the old POD Line6 that's still working wonders, the marshall amp from church, the boys i'm playing with tonight and a place for my shuffling feet. good things come in multiple of threes.

it feels like a wean off the overdose. not that i can't be present to the now, but, there's always a "but", always a sliver of panic underneath the belly, tugging away at the nerves, sending shivers to my fingers as they tap discreetly on this overused keyboard. i think about straight jacket restraints and how they work to save yourself from hurting and multilating. just two nights ago, i smashed the fan to the floor with my head. it still hurts like a glowing warning sign. i need human intervention, don't give me no God spiritual emo shit. In my anger, i am trying not to sin. But already, I'm falling short, severely.

A year ago, i found a way to live. To live for others, feed them, clothe them, embrace them and feed on their gratitude and grace. Much like Patch Adams, for a while it was good, in the beginning, when hands were receiving and our feet walked with cooperation. And then the story hits a tension, when the ones you care about the most, the ones you have no idea you let inside, the ones you trust, changes. Does it now take a butterfly and a divine visitation to remind me of goodness, grace, mercy flowing from the throne room we've all been cultured upon?

This feels like 99 when I was in LA. The air was different, expectant. I dreamt of playing out in the suburbs, following festivals and events to play to a potential international audience. I suppose this is a dream come true, playing outside of the little island i was born in. Tonight, it feels like, it all begins. Or maybe i am clearly deluded and caught up in an artificial clingwrap whirlwind.

I don't know how my feet will land tomorrow, or the day after, but all i know is that this feels like an emergency hand up. For now, as I memorise these for tonight, may it bridge me to the next sunrise....

Awakening - lyrical genius of Jon Foreman, Switchfoot

face down with the LA curbside endings, with the ones and zeros, downtown was a perfect place to hide. the first star that i saw last night was a headlight and a man made sky but man made never made our dreams collide, collide

here we are now, with the falling sky and the rain, we're awakening here we are now, with our desperate youth and pain, we're awakening maybe it's called ambition, and you've been talking in your sleep, about a dream, we're awakening...

last week saw me living for nothing but deadlines and a deadbeat sky, but this town doesn't look the same tonight. these dreams started singing to me out of nowhere and in all my life i don't think that i ever felt so alive, alive...

here we are now, with the falling sky and the rain, we're awakening here we are now, with our desperate youth and pain, we're awakening maybe it's called ambition, and you've been talking in your sleep, about a dream, we're awakening...

i wanna wake up kicking and screaming i wanna wake up kicking and screaming i wanna know that my heart's still beating, it's beating, i'm bleeding

i wanna wake up kicking and screaming i wanna live like i know what i'm leaving i wanna know that my heart's still beating, it's beating, it's beating, it's beating, i'm bleeding....

here we are now, with the falling sky and the rain, we're awakening here we are now, with our desperate youth and pain, we're awakening maybe it's called ambition, and you've been talking in your sleep, about a dream, we're awakening dreams, we're awakening...