When I look into your eyes
I can see a love restrained
But darlin' when I hold you
Don't you know I feel the same
'Cause nothin' lasts forever
And we both know hearts can change
And it's hard to hold a candle
In the cold November rain
Siren's Song
Friday, October 03, 2003
I used to think cheonging is cool. Psychedelic lights, beautiful people, high spirits. But the feel-good effect really is something that is falsely or delusively believed or propagated. As much as I wanna feel like an high-and-mighty indestructible Queen of some faraway land parting the Red Sea of vermins and hoi polloi on the dance floor, and at the same time screaming "Of with ya miserable head!", I comprehend the fragility of this dream world. How long can we trust in this dream-world to satisfy our need for attention, this wily subterfuge?
Admit it. All of us go there to kid ourselves. Alright, if not all, most. If not most, some. If not some, a few. Wateva. Not that I care.
Zouk. Chinablack. Phuture. Velvet Underground. Place names drawing lost souls with a magnetic attraction. Dropping the generic "people" hereafter, I admit that a part of me clubs just to feel beautiful. Not physically beauty, but just to lap up the feeling of being "wanted". Stares and side glances, the momentary eye-to-eye connection, that spark, that bolt of spontaneous combustion - l u s t.
Be it attraction or lust. To an object of craving, to be "in", to have a "life", ain't that just that little bit satisfying? Misleading, yes; but satisfying too?
I can stop clubbing anytime. I really can. In any case I can't find what I was looking there in the first place. That familiar face, that head-turning scent. Issey Miyake. Is he wearing it now? Or would he fancy Truth today? I'll never know. Calling him up to ask is not an option. He'll just think I'm a pesky ex-gf bugging him with weird questions.
*purge* Enough rambling and purging for the morning. Good day to all!
8:26 AM
