eXTReMe Tracker <body><script type="text/javascript"> function setAttributeOnload(object, attribute, val) { if(window.addEventListener) { window.addEventListener("load", function(){ object[attribute] = val; }, false); } else { window.attachEvent('onload', function(){ object[attribute] = val; }); } } </script> <iframe src="http://www.blogger.com/navbar.g?targetBlogID=10848080&amp;blogName=istone&amp;publishMode=PUBLISH_MODE_BLOGSPOT&amp;navbarType=BLACK&amp;layoutType=CLASSIC&amp;searchRoot=http%3A%2F%2Fstones-.blogspot.com%2Fsearch&amp;blogLocale=de_DE&amp;homepageUrl=http%3A%2F%2Fstones-.blogspot.com%2F" marginwidth="0" marginheight="0" scrolling="no" frameborder="0" height="30px" width="100%" id="navbar-iframe" allowtransparency="true" title="Blogger Navigation and Search"></iframe> <div></div><!-- --><div id="b-navbar"><a href="http://www.blogger.com/" id="b-logo" title="Go to Blogger.com"><img src="http://www.blogger.com/img/navbar/3/logobar.gif" alt="Blogger" width="80" height="24" /></a><form id="b-search" action="http://www.google.com/search"><div id="b-more"><a href="http://www.blogger.com/" id="b-getorpost"><img src="http://www.blogger.com/img/navbar/3/btn_getblog.gif" alt="Get your own blog" width="112" height="15" /></a><a href="http://www.blogger.com/redirect/next_blog.pyra?navBar=true" id="b-next"><img src="http://www.blogger.com/img/navbar/3/btn_nextblog.gif" alt="Next blog" width="72" height="15" /></a></div><div id="b-this"><input type="text" id="b-query" name="q" /><input type="hidden" name="ie" value="UTF-8" /><input type="hidden" name="sitesearch" value="yourstruly-.blogspot.com" /><input type="image" src="http://www.blogger.com/img/navbar/3/btn_search.gif" alt="Search" value="Search" id="b-searchbtn" title="Search this blog with Google" /><a href="javascript:BlogThis();" id="b-blogthis">BlogThis!</a></div></form></div><script type="text/javascript"><!-- function BlogThis() {Q='';x=document;y=window;if(x.selection) {Q=x.selection.createRange().text;} else if (y.getSelection) { Q=y.getSelection();} else if (x.getSelection) { Q=x.getSelection();}popw = y.open('http://www.blogger.com/blog_this.pyra?t=' + escape(Q) + '&u=' + escape(location.href) + '&n=' + escape(document.title),'bloggerForm','scrollbars=no,width=475,height=300,top=175,left=75,status=yes,resizable=yes');void(0);} --></script><div id="space-for-ie"></div>
Donnerstag, August 27, 2009

time


with all my heart i want to believe that it is nothing... i want to believe that in twenty years we will be all we hope to be: our hair still caught in the wind, our parting kisses still filled with familiar longing, our love still the cosy place we come home to. i want to believe that waiting doesn't change anything, and if it does; i want to believe that one day we will come full circle and find each other again. is this all it comes down to - desire and hope?

but if this is all it comes down to, then let me have enough desire and hope.

When I said "My foot is slipping,"
your love, O lord, supported me.
When anxiety was great within me,
Your consolation brought joy to my soul.
Ps. 94:18-19
dear Lord, my foot is slipping.
(: (: (: (:

Montag, Juni 01, 2009


I'm waiting
I'm waiting on You, Lord
And I am hopeful
I'm waiting on You, Lord
Though it is painful
But patiently, I will wait

I'm waiting
I'm waiting on You, Lord
And I am peaceful
I'm waiting on You, Lord
Though it's not easy
But faithfully, I will wait


(: (: (: (:

Dienstag, April 07, 2009

this haze, this conscious dream, has gotten tiring. today i do not know who i am, where i've been and where i'm going: my dreams have gone from liberating to suffocating. give me time.. time to get used to your possibilities, your ways around the system, my fighting for what i shouldn't even have to fight for. too many things we don't know yet, not currently, not soon, not ever.

tell me..... what exactly? do i do you do we really want to know that the only thing that stands between despair and hope; knowledge and unknowledge; the good and the ungood; the dead and the undead; is a .. tree? a tree whose trunk isn't meant for the heroic holding up the weight of the world; but whose old, old trunk is nothing but sheared bone, brutally sandpapered by the wind and rain. a tree without hopeful fingers that instinctively creep upward to its creator; but are instead old, sick and arthritic.

many, many things have been lost. even my writing no longer resembles the wind; all i know now is crude, vulgar technical writing, on trade options and diversity, on forward foreign exchange rates, on china's elite policy, on the future of india. if i disappear will you remember what i once was; will you tell me time is nothing? or will you tell me the difference between the real and unreal is not a tree, but very simply, sanity?
(: (: (: (:

Dienstag, März 31, 2009

mr whitby

"if there's anyone i can think of that's perfect to practice medicine it's be j; he's a good lad. i think you've got a keeper there, and he's got one in you. you let me know how the both of you work out."

(:
(: (: (: (:



and death, i think (is no parantheses)

can it be said we don't like change? no, change with you is spontaneity; but change without you is .. lonely chaos. too many houses smell like ghosts: i miss you terribly.
(: (: (: (:

Mittwoch, Februar 25, 2009

lilies
it is, is it some semblance of life, an ardent promise of continuity in my room: it is comforting. if i write a book will you buy it, if i buy a book would you write in it, or will it depend on what the book looks like. would you pay for words, my words, to have words? would you pay a painter that writes poetry in colour, would you pay an actor that looks like a poem? it is, is it proof that dirt is clean when there is a volume. would you continue to read this if i continue to write this, in this manner, in this stunningly unsettling manner. my lilies smell like rain in the summer, but that's just my opinion: they're my favourite. <3
(: (: (: (:

Dienstag, Februar 17, 2009

i know i should be writing and for that i am ashamed. i want to walk and feel words materialise in my soul, i want to write and write and write and write, something long something huge something profound; something that will make me cry all over again when i read it. i want to write prose and not poetry: prose that is by no means prosaic... there's nothing stopping me, but too many things are empty without you around, and so i have been letting myself disappear into the haze of sleep, into the heat of the afternoon, into the shadows of rainy days..

answer me like you would a child: sure, strong, definite. tell me our parents are invincible and infallible, that we will live forever....... i want to not know any better, to sneeze into the batter, to eat butter out of a spoon: tell me time is nothing, and i too, will love you like mr darcy would.. most ardently.
(: (: (: (:

Donnerstag, Januar 29, 2009

where time cannot go

i dreamed you were a dream: a voice tossed around by the wind, a momentary affair the waves have licked off the shore, an unreality over the phone. an idea that disappears and reappears and disappears in the wind of thought: it is autumn in singapore, and the trees have begun to cry. but it's okay, i say quietly. i have seen the future: we will be okay with all the waiting.
(: (: (: (:

name.
reads.
snaps.
gossips.