The Night-Mare ...Prequel

Just woke up all wet ... the timer on the Handphone read 10:01.
Perspi
ration

ran down

~~~

from head


--------

down the neck like a rivulet ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


across the hairy chest


(Is Desi revealing/unravelling too much?)


~~~~~~~~~~~~~ the salty H2O like li'l starlets paused at the hole.


That hole in biology is termed Da Navel.No, not Novel.



~~~~~~~~~If you were a Science-based student, like Howsy-in-lundun, and Desi-once-upon-A-time ~~~~~~~~~~~~

you'd know that

NATURE HATES A VACUUM.


So I switched on the vacuum cleaner,
swiped the trapping-mouth
at the end of a long-gun

Zzzzzz~~~~~~~Zzzzzzz~~~~~~~~

over my 'hole body, finally arrived at Da Navel


THE END OF A HATCHET CLEANING UP JOB.

Need to pause here.
Suddenly.
The electricity went off. Used to do that lately.
The Tenaga people have LOST a lot of power since piratisation.
Someone took the billions away -- left some millions in the kitty.

Then I heard that "meow! meaooww! MEEOOWW!" reverberate throughout the house.
It shook the blardy hell out of Desi.
That was when I woke up at 10.000AM.

DESIDERATA: I did leave word yesterday that my ER will know whether Miss NightMare descended on Desi -- to punish him for being naughty, acting like Combat of the olde TV series back when it was in B&W. Then they were not fond of coloured people.
So this posting at HIGH NOON means I'm still kicking and alive.

Yes, I'm. From the HORS'S MOUTH.

But that fifth

s
c
c
r
e
A
m
I
N
G

continues...The fifth durian, remember?

Somehow reading this poem last night did NOT work in preventing the night-mare, although it came courtsey of a horse wind from Land Of Oz.
Thanks, ssssssweeet, anyway, for the medDEEcine.
L'VE,
Desi,

now reaching out for his TEH-C...about Noon, rite-ing the pre-quel because it's good practice for the Hollywood run. Healthy to exercise, daily!

SADDEST POEM

Tuesday, August 30, 2005

Pablo Neruda

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.

Write, for instance: "The night is full of stars,
and the stars, blue, shiver in the distance."

The night wind whirls in the sky and sings.

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

On nights like this, I held her in my arms.
I kissed her so many times under the infinite sky.

She loved me, sometimes I loved her.
How could I not have loved her large, still eyes?

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
To think I don't have her. To feel that I've lost her.

To hear the immense night, more immense without her.
And the poem falls to the soul as dew to grass.

What does it matter that my love couldn't keep her.
The night is full of stars and she is not with me.

That's all. Far away, someone sings. Far away.
My soul is lost without her.

As if to bring her near, my eyes search for her.
My heart searches for her and she is not with me.

The same night that whitens the same trees.
We, we who were, we are the same no longer.

I no longer love her, true, but how much I loved her.
My voice searched the wind to touch her ear.

Someone else's. She will be someone else's. As she once
belonged to my kisses.
Her voice, her light body. Her infinite eyes.

I no longer love her, true, but perhaps I love her.
Love is so short and oblivion so long.

Because on nights like this I held her in my arms,
my soul is lost without her.

Although this may be the last pain she causes me,
and this may be the last poem I write for her.