Who's Bad

For a week I've been occupied by endless work. It is very ironic in a way that, after leaving the company, I have all the time to myself, to work.
Gradually I turned. Before, I tried to pose a cool image as a person that mourns not. Now, I know that I have every right to mourn, but I don't have to. It's my choice. Sometimes I can't help it. My friends, in times as such, are doomed. I could be very needy and bitchy, just like what Simon and Garfunkel sang, "I was so hard to please." Sometimes I think the best I can do is to not disturb others. It's na?ve, I know. But just let me indulge myself a little bit.
Recently the translation is getting better. It goes faster, and the quality more satisfactory. Little by little I regain the feeling of using Chinese, refined Chinese. Nevertheless I loose my English, as you can see here on this wasted blog. Yet it sort of feels good. I even recall the feeling of writing when I was in my teenage. Then, I used to write with all my intelligence and feelings. Put all myself into words. It was my way of resisting the pressure from the environment, I suppose. But after entering different stages of life, the world seems to change, and one reacts with different strategy, unconsciously. I can't even remember when I stopped writing. In fact I was never an active writer. I simply use the opportunity—when asked to write, I write not in response to the demand but for myself. It turned out fine, always, as long as I didn't reveal the dark side, if there's any. After attending the college, I left that and turned to other things. Years after I got used to the rhythm of the music, changing scenes of the cinema, beats of techno, euphoriant feelings with ecstasy, trembling of a touch, but not writing. I produced many words in academia, but that was full of argumentation and logic, nothing from my heart. Seeing from it now, how could one live in this manner?
But I do know that lots of people do. Yi just left, he was torn by two lovers (well, I live partly in songs). From his story I recognize myself, as different characters in that complicated story. How lucky I am that I haven't been a manic-depressive psychosis patient.

I started this note with the feeling as U2 conveyed in their song Bad. Just a part share with you here. (Oh, Bono is a killer, with his voice.)
If you should ask then maybe they'd
Tell you what I would say
True colors fly in blue and black
Bruised silken sky and burning flag
Colors crash, collide in blood shot eyes
If I could, you know I would
If I could, I would Let it go...
This desperation
Dislocation
Separation
Condemnation
RevelationIn
temptation
Isolation
Desolation
Let it go
And so fade away
To let it go
And so fade away
To let it go
And so to fade away
I'm wide awake
I'm wide awake
Wide awake
I'm not sleeping

Great Expectations

It has been a while I have no desire for the night, nor my usual habits at night. For more than twenty years I felt the vitality of living with the moon surrounded by stars, yet now I almost lost my interests in them. The most distinct evident: you don't not have my words as frequently as before.

I do have a new form of life, getting up early, no more depending on my personal transportation equipment, no more food from shops, no more unnecessary conversation with acquaintances, no more time-consumming movies. However, something must be missing here.

I desire not to tell tales, and what's more, I don't know what to tell. I read, stories far more fascinating than I could imagine, but still I felt paralyzed. How ironic, at my time with most healthy life style and stimulating plan ahead (Japan! here I come!), I am free from vigor as much as pain.

Even words here are dull. God damn it.

So what's been going on in the past week?

Before all these, I had too much dead of night. It turns out that I was exhausted. I had a long sleep one night, from nightfall to sunrise. Ever since then I couldn't stay in bed after the sun comes up.
At the beginning it was enjoyable, as if you have the whole day to yourself. I started having breakfast, which was very rare in my life. Exercising, even less seen before. I gradually regain my ability to deal with business, phone calls from strangers. Starting doing research, for my work.

One thing I know is missing. Interpersonal communication. But I know, it was I who shut that out. I am fully aware why I did that. Yet, in fact, from another perspective, I did that long ago. For how long? I can't even remember.
I am not sure whether to go to see my friends in Japan, although I know quite well that I'll go anyway. Yet it would be quite annoying, wouldn't it? Maybe they won't notice. Well, who knows?

Without the will or the ability to re-organise my life stories, I give you words above. It's temporary I'm sure. Yet I am afraid now. This kind of cold, still fear I can't remember having before. It's not the sense of not knowing where to go that frightens me, but the stillness and calmness I pose to myself. It's unnatural.

Gotta work tomorrow, so you must excuse me now.