A world unprepared for miracles or phantasmagoria.
A world uneasy about deviance.
A world unsettled by sediment.
A world unbecoming of being called reality.
A world unlike a world in your mind, and indifferent to your interruptions.
A world undesirably acerbic and uncharacteristically doleful.
A world undeniably paradoxical and unfettering.
A world in your kind.
A lexiconic gimmick.
A gesture for a jester.
A moment’s time worth little to an emptied vessel but a ruse for the broken.
A smile provoked when a snarl is better suited.
A childish play for an unenlightened fool.
A hawk amongst denizens instilled with oblivious idiocy.
A proper impropriety.
A torrent of drought amongst salivating complaints.
A sour fruit growing in the middle of sugar canes.
A rose that grows thorns without flowers.
An indescribable fear amongst the fearless.
A negative reinforcement for positive reinforcement.
A scented unscented soap.
A poor sap that could not have known better than to mind his own business.
A hello amongst sleeping passengers on a train to nowhere.
A description of nowhere.
A loss of voice.
A restriction.
A blessing
A curse.
A new you for only $99.99.
A pain.
A love.
A life.
A sun.
A line.
Uneasily waiting to do nothing, it’s the feeling of doors slowly closing, and hesitating for just a moment before it does.
Silence is barely comforting.
Such a feeble heart for such an iron encased mind. There’s enough space to breathe in and exhale, yet the most arid air can still feel smothering. Resuscitation is always possible, but I barely feel capable of accepting a breath.
It seems the longer I wait, the harder it gets to breathe. Floating adrift a sea of stars and lanterns, there are trees of bamboo limbs sprouting in astronomical speed. My body hasn’t been submerged yet, but I can feel these gentle fingers pulling down from my chest, barely giving me enough space to recoil my ribs forward. And yet I lie here listlessly, waiting and expecting to be asphyxiated by an unknown force – an unknown body or unknown power. I make no effort to push my face forward or tilt forward. Lethargy seems to have overtaken any part of my life. I’m giving up.
Is this sea even water? It feels almost heavier – more silk-like or gel-like. Is this blood?
Stripped and bare, I feel the wavering loss of consciousness, and I barely feel contented. It’s scary. It’s overbearing.
I’ve been impaled, feeling ravels of my bowel being looped like a ball of yarn. It’s hard to scream with a mouth full of blood.
Atop the bamboo, I see a hooded figure. Lifeless. Literally – it is none other than the robe I once wore before being disrobed. It beckons me to take shelter within it, yet it feels harder to grasp for the longer I wait – the silk, thick austere robe of red. Red like opium poppies. Red like blood.
It’ll take me that much longer to ponder my priorities. My skin does not blanche more than it already has.
Prom queens, rugby jocks, fraternities and sororities – gather one collectively to create the North American ideal and the pride of every immigrant parent. Let’s not mention what goes bump in the night, though.
Indeed, this is the blog of Franky Liu. Voukah is simply a compilation of random thoughts and useless rambling as he goes through an interestingly mundane life. With that, he is quite emotional and many times annoying; sometimes he wonders if he is narcissistic as well. He also may cause upset stomach. He also enjoys speaking in third person.
Voukah, its design and its writing belong to Franky Liu, with the exception of quotations, stock images, or anything otherwise obvious. Yes, the damned design is mine.