353/365

a stale chocolate eclair
just before midnight
washed down by cold sparkling
water straight from the bottle.

a tiny white head zit
on your lower eyelid
causing swelling and irritation.

sizzling mushroom fajitas
for dinner
two margaritas
large and on the rocks
a beer at the art house movie
with friends. a gentle
walk to the taxi.

a ruptured taste bud
on the tongue making
it challenging to pry
that piece of tortilla chip
from the hole in your molar.

a cool breeze
in the tropical heat.

another sunday night:
this one on the
forty seventh december
of your life.

161/365

i used to have a drink
and before i could even
feel what it felt like,
i’d have another one
and another one
and another one,
until you were all gone
and i was alone
in the oblivion,
empty bottles
full ashtrays
vomit on the floor
on my shirt.
the music
the only tether,
from complete
erasure.  

there’s little patience
in youth, little trust,
little restraint. just
relentless devouring.

thursday:
a school night,
a martini,
a negroni,
neil young singing:  
dream up
dream up
let me fill your cup
with the promise of a man,
two people
maybe one,
will recognise
the significance
of that line.

sitting on the edge,
wisdom tells us
to enjoy the ride.
see what
this
high can do.
ride it
to its mellow crash.

144/354

life is the laborious
realisation that
everything plods
toward the inevitable
cliché.

how could one with
such kerouacian dreams,
and rock and roll yearning
succumb to this state
of mid-life crisis.

my dad told me
on the phone
the other day,
that although
he is turning seventy one
this year, he still sees
a young man in the mirror,
whenever he looks—
“i feel like i am still
in my forties or fifties.”

the true spirit of adventure
blooms in the ability to transform
what the average person
sees as obstacles,
into opportunities.  

you can’t rely on
the open road
or the ocean
or a raging freezing
himalayan river,
or the alleyways of
foreign streets,
or sunrise at mount kenya
or the gentle waves
of a fire in the wild,
to make you feel alive.

there is heroism
in banality,
it’s the work that
reveals the frenzy
in contentment.

84/365

famous blue raincoat
is the past, present and future
all in one go:

sitting by a fire
a bottle of wine in hand
staring at the crackling frenzy
dying down to a murmuring
bed of exothermic repose.
he can’t see me
curled up on the couch
pretending
to be a sleep.

a childhood
built on
perpetually
spinning
records.

here.
now.
tired.

i hope you’re keeping
some kind of record.

someday
we’ll even look back
on these uneventful nights
with youthful nostalgia.

the body older
and the song
a witness to a life
beyond time.

75/365

haemorrhoids and heartburn.
half-baked habits.

hapless helpless
halfhearted happiness.

harmless holiness,
hoary hair and
haggard humour.

he like a hopeful
waxing moon
about to bloom
and fill the sky
with light.

Season of Love

Because I can’t yet drive and because Mairin’s parents are here and because our car is small and because we are out-and-about all over town, Skye has been sitting on my lap in the front seat. Our cheeks are very close and all day long I have been stealing kisses. She has been burying her head into the crux of my shoulder, and the soft skin on her cheeks reminds me of when she was a baby. I subtly inhaled her smell and squeezed her as we drove from meal to meal.

As I was petting the cat on the bed today, I noticed that her front tooth was brown and chipped and aged. I always thought that she was indestructible and ageless, but further investigation revealed that she is missing quite a few teeth. She is fourteen (72 in human years) and so it makes sense that he body is deteriorating. Mairin immediately went out and bought her some soft wet food. She scarfed it down and seemed to enjoy the novelty of something new at her age. We could all wish for something little like that to bring us joy.

The afternoon was quiet and grey and ended with an early dinner at Chjimes. The weather was cool for Singapore, the lights festive, the food satisfying. I had few expectations for the day and it lived up to them. Slow and steady. Undemanding in its nonchalance.

Sometimes it might be best, when the world is upside down and spiraling out of control, to hunker down and hug the middle, somewhere near the centrifuge and hold on for dear life.  

Isn't Life Strange?

This post started off as a word. An idea- content. In my mind it started to grow into a tweet, sprang some arms and legs, maybe a heart and almost grew into a Facebook status. But somewhere in its fetal zygote state it demanded more. Put on some music it said, sit with me and gestate; let's see if you can give me birth.

I had no idea what to expect. I was tired when I started. Getting over a cold can leave you flat, like you've spent all of your energy lifting heavy things off your flattened body- houses, trees, trucks and vans come to mind. But that wasn't my day, heavy had nothing to do with it.

Today was easy and light. The weight of my sickness was more like a feather I simply blew off. So why am I so tried? It went like this:

Woke up late(ish) past eight. The girls tired and groggy left us alone for the most part. Gone are the days of their constant need for attention. Upon waking up we decided to meet some friends for coffee at the park, so we got on our bikes and rode beneath the clear blue sky toward the ocean.

We decided to meet some friends for coffee at the park, so we got on our bikes and rode beneath the clear blue sky toward the ocean.

We decided to meet some friends for coffee at the park, so we got on our bikes and rode beneath the clear blue sky toward the ocean.

Sounds good enough to say three times. They rode their bikes too and our children played while we spoke about our lives and our jobs and our maids, until we realized it was time for lunch, so we moved a restaurant over and had margaritas and naan.

We rode home for a swim. I told my kids that I was proud of them for a variety of things, like falling and not making a big deal about it.  I yelled at them for being selfish assholes. I didn't use the word asshole, but wondered when I could use it for more effect.

I don't want them to be selfish assholes. (At this very moment I am listening to Dress (demo) by PJ Harvey and everything in the universe is flowing through my veins and my skin is gone and I'm not sure who is typing these words.)

After the swim, which was refreshing and quiet and necessary, the girls played on their own, while I read and slept and read and slept and dreamed and rejoiced, and read and slept until I was a groggy rested blob of self. After crawling out of bed....

I hugged and tickled the girls, told them I loved them and yelled at them for yelling at each other. I felt foolish and stupid, but then lost myself in the book about people who break their way out of stone.

After dinner we put the girls to sleep and decided to write this rambling post instead of a Facebook status. I'm still pretending like you care and that sharing these moments clothed in these word matters for some reason. 

I hope you might read them- old friend from high school, uncle, co-worker, friend, random twitter follower, ex-girlfriend, father- and you might shake your head and think- Man! Jabiz is weird. These words might remind you of why you care about me in any way that you might now or might have in the past.

You might think as you skim your social network (Your thumb scrolling all our lives into an endless feed of news stories, cat videos and pictures of the primate genocide) that- This is something, not sure what it is. It is not exceptionally well written or even proofread, but it appears he has chosen to smear some thoughts on my ethereal cyberwall. It might not be much, but.....

This was a day and I lived it and these words are a testament to that living. There has to be value in that.

Now, I 'm gonna grab a glass of red wine, slink into bed and watch Fargo. I haven't run in a few days or worked on my novel. I have been sick I tell myself. That is a good excuse. I have been living. I hope that is enough. I have a race in a few weeks and my draft is due soon.

I have never been good at goals. But sleeping, reading, yelling, swimming, riding.....living? These things I can do.

In closing, when I was twelve years old, I walked into Supercuts and said I want this haircut please:

Now at forty one, I hope to see something like this in the mirror by months end:

Isn't life strange?

yellowed

Every time I have brushed my teeth for the last few weeks, I have listened to a strange internal narration running through my head. I see the shots, feel the words, even hear the music.

Tonight, I made it come true:

Music by CSoul

yellowed

Your teeth will yellow
and appear crooked in your face.
They'll tell you about this,
but you won't believe them

Blindfolded by the invincibility of youth
the future feels so far away.
The present spiraling in circles and webs.
Wisdom, a distant luxury.

Your dreams will not come true
The "When I grow ups" will come and go
leaving you with some "what I am's"
or worse "what I should have beens."

One day the end feels closer than the beginning
and you have already forgotton so much.
A voice screams from within,
a stranger now
pleading for you to remember the promises

The places you could have gone
replaced with the place where you are.
The life you live.

Don't fret. Your mind will drift and dance through time.
You are everywhere, everyone all the time

Your teeth maybe yellow
but you brush anyway
They may identify you by them
when you are gone. 

 It was a fun way to spend Friday night. Hope you like it.