Saturday, May 08, 2004

thoughts at midnight.

i saw a crippled man today. he sat on the tiled interchange floor at midnight. he came into view as the escalator whirred to the top - what seemed like only a moving head on the ground.

midnight.

i caught one of the last trains home. a miracle! praise be to SMRT!

i nearly kissed the dull black of the paint as the doors opened - miraculous work of mechanical late-night saving grace.

toa payoh was the last station it went to - the last station so close to home - the station i grew up visiting for ten years of my life, the station that was home.

lifesaver.

it was probably the last - or second last bus he caught; the red-white of the number plate pulling into view shortly after we hasted our steps from the mrt station.

transport and mass rapid transit.

midnight.

i had to pass by the man again to get my bus. he was still there.

i wonder how he got there. wonder what he was doing there.

begging?

midnight.

there's a fraction of the people around than there are in the day. jason said he was probably pretending. who's to know? his crutches are laid down on the floor beside him. two strong black supports, gnarled and twisted in the yellow light, like knolled branches of trees.

i wonder what's going to happen to him later.

i wonder what's going to happen to him tomorrow.

but it's really not my business.

i glance pass him like so many of the few people left in the terminal. leaving him alone, trying not to stare.

i don't stare. it's like telling people they don't belong. but if people stare at me strangely i stare back. i know i shouldn't. fights happen this way.

a lady has a loud conversation on her mobile phone beside me, and i lean against the oil of fingerprints that covers the steel railing. i, too, take out my phone, but i type.

somehow my muse has ceased her game of hide-and-go-seek. i've found her. she returned to me after i walked past the man and towards my bus stop.

the bus finally comes. the person at the very front of the queue - a young man - attempts to prove the sign wrong.

"Doors only open when bus arrives" it states, in simple plain black on white. it's true, you know. the doors only opened when the bus came, no matter what the guy did around the door, or at the sensor.

i found a seat on the bus. i usually sit there. last double seat at the back, before the long row. on the left aisle. i continued recording my thoughts into digital lcd font on the way home. i heard a motorbike rumble softly before it came into my vision.

cats. so many cats are out tonight. it seems my senses are heightened when my muse guides my thoughts, and tries to organise them into a clear path - not a straight path, mind you. my thoughts meander habitually. i am possessed. and am in a semi-trance. and i cannot stop until everything has flowed out of me - translated into something tangible. that i can see. in the stark black print. only then will i feel satisfied.

anyway. i just watched Van Helsing. hilarious, really. but i liked the graphics. you gotta give them credit for it, although most hate the script. it's trash. perhaps. a little too overdone, maybe? i personally thought it was fine. hugh jackman was, as usual, a dish. and a wolfman. kate beckingsale? the ever personably cold (how ironic) gothic chicka who has a fling with the wolf man. these cliches will stick with them for years to come.

i'm home now. bus plans didn't go according to plan, but the mission: complete. everyone is safe at home without the need for rescue by a cab. ahh, late-night transport. something we could never do without.

...and dith babbled on at the insane hour of 12:47:00 AM