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excursive mind

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[04 Jan 2010|05:12pm]
And I'm in the driver seat, trudging along the coast line as we inch closer to the left turn that would park us right by the beach, while from where we were, we looked out at the impermanent marquee tented along on the grassland, fluorescent shafts of light cast a third world clinical glow and them folks who belong to town saunter about, plied with bargains from hawkers that have turned the heady evening into a bazaar and the thrilling note of the karaoke singer dragged through the blackness of our clammy night. And before we got there, before we stopped the cars cold in the corner dirt-track and hiked over to claim a spot facing the vauntingly ebb-less sea, the fireworks shot upwards and outwards, declaiming and smirking at us for failing to punctually commemorate the collective moment where those of us in Greenwich +8 would cross over to a new decade.

Later with sparklers nimbly handled on the tip of our fingers, we wheeled like children, performing imaginary somersaults and cartwheels as our arms led those sprinkle of sizzling sparks against the shadow of one another, shading and lighting our animated faces, crossing the calendar with a belief that some good luck with rub off from such high spiritedness and spoke of this year as if this year has nothing to do with last year and last year was just some rotten luck and by some obstufucating form of ritual commemoration, the repercussions and consequences that might have trickled into the present could be washed away by the low tide, carrying sequential after thoughts into the lull of what seemed to be that night a calm and forgiving sea.

or so we believe.
4 pin-ups| to write

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