Day 5, Cell Cleaning

I’ve been cleaning my cell. It’s an absolute disaster. The mattress is facing the mirror, the toilet bowl feels unloved, the light bulb keeps making passes at me, and the walls smell like some magic mountain from Mars.

So I shift the mattress to face the door whilst humming “Brazil”. Some guard comes around and tells me to keep it down. He’s still wearing a samurai armour from yesterday’s costume party. So I hum it on my head, there’s no privacy these days. There is an assortment of smells on my fingers. The toilet is washed but the bulb is persistent.

I think of humans and find them quite amusing. They fight among themselves most of the time, and when some greater evil comes along, they drop their differences in a heartbeat and fight the greater evil. The greater evil gone, they resume their petty fights. I’m not going to define evil because it’s different everywhere. For me right now, it’s that samurai standing outside, because he’s got some funny smell that doesn’t agree with my fingers. But we both hate the warden’s guts, so how do we combat the forces of evil if one’s standing on the dancing platform while one is drowning in self pity at the bar? As long as I get my broad beans for dinner I shouldn’t care right?

My wedding finger smells like yesterday’s stewed pork. I can only dream.

Dream No.4

Hey, this is the same room where Morpheus was. Neo sits in a classical 1974 EZ chair. Isn’t he dead?
“Apparently not.” Is he reading my mind?
“I’m OEM Neo.” Oh OK, this production is cheap.
I think he ignores me anyway and continues.
“You are stuck in between in real world and the dream world.”
“So why am I here?”
“You can’t make up your mind what you want in life, so I can offer you this, a brand new Mitsubishi Aircon, complete with air purifier and low power consumption. It’s really silent, if you ask me. About 21db.”
“So what happened to Smith?”
“He’s now an insurance agent with John Hancock.”
Huh? Now I’m REALLY dreaming.
“Can you still blast sentinels by blinking?”
“I’m OEM Neo, really stripped down version. You have to ask the architect. I do sales now. First I was selling video games, then computer games, then DVDs. Now, I sell Aircons. What’s the diff? It’s all about the money anyway. So are you buying or what?”
“How about I give you the finger and you give me the blue pill?”
“Oh alright, beam him up, John.”

Day No.4, Run with a reason.

I began running when I was in National Service. It was not a decision made by me, but by the physical instuctors who pretty much whipped the whipping boys into shape. I never hated it, but I never liked it either. It was better than going though an obstacle course.

When I was in the Ministry of Defence, some military personnel opted to pig out. I guess I didn't want to be like them, so I ran. I was very sensitive about my body, every ounce of fat on me was my enemy, so I was effectively running against myself. I started at 2km. I ran to lose weight.

Then after a while it climbed to 4km. So I was naturally happy when my times start to drop and my pants start to drop. Before you know it, I start thinking about why I'm still running. After all, I've accomplished pretty much what I set out to do. I couldn't find a reason and became a bit depressed. My frequencies dropped and I put on a little weight. It's like figuring out where this relationship is going.

But I plugged on. I filled holes in my life with running. I changed running routes and saw different things. I changed pace and felt pain. You say say pain is better than emptiness. Pain is a constant reminder why I'm alive. The throbbing is telling me that I better give up and go home. Why go through hell? I don't know what life is unless I go through some kind of hell.

The feeling after the run is something else. It could be a sunset. It could be throwing up lunch. It could be a natural high. It could be misery. It loves company. It could be triumph. It could be defeat. Whatever it is, it is never the same all the time. Whatever it is, take it all in because it's all you'll ever need.

I've become loyal to running. I never see her face, but I know she's there everytime I step out in my Mizunos. It's mostly pain, but I've grown to enjoy the company. She's somehow made me a better person, and I've come to understand my flaws. I thank my hands and my feet everyday, I feel they are the least appreciated things in the world. People won't appreciate them until they're gone. Most of all, running's made me aware of life.

Dream No.3

An elderly gentleman in the desert took off his cap in reverence, asks me in Cantonese: Where is the TSF block? I tell him where but do not show him. After that I felt a lump in my throat.

Day 3, renovation.

We are naked in our cells, with the exception of a belt. I got transferred to a temporary cell with 10121977. Felt like I've known him for years. He's got pasty white skin, so I pray very very hard for the sun not to come out today. They are jackhammering my cell for god knows what. 10121977's playing some epic hero game in a cardboard box. Calls his hero Slater. He's been in here long. Got a mattress. I love mattresses. It's slumberlicious. There's some book on social psychology on it. It's a good pillow. Then suddenly he tells me he's thawing some prawns. I don't see any so I ask him where it is. He kept mum about it.

I go back to my cell for cell mate 29121983 to join me. They beat up his left leg real good. So we invented future IDs for recognition: cralaucralau, badladcrud, and acububad. We talk about boxing. A true champion is one who picks himself up. I tell him if I ever break out, I'll go to Cuba, sell vacuum cleaners, moonlight as an amateur boxer and listen to Omara everyday. The cell is now orange so I draw a duck and a dog.

Maurice tells me that Netball is an evening sport. He told me the Queen has a funny perm. She also sings like Glenda. Who's Glenda? He tells me her enemies are dodgeball players. True. But who's Glenda? I know Grant Hill drinks Sprite, but who's Glenda?

Dream No.2

My late grandfathers playing chess on a nudist beach in France. WTF?!

Day 2

Something cleaned off the sweet nectar of sleep off the floor. Something's got to live. It shows a vivid awareness of life. I wonder if it's Presbyterian or Catholic?

They painted the walls grey, the jagged outlines of age with petals of red. Maybe I should have bought the flowers myself, for the previous owner have my work cut out for me. Light poured through the window high above, with it touching the stained door forming a parallelogram. It feels hot to the touch. I placed my cheek upon the wooden door, kissing the warmth cheek to cheek.

I ran when the light diffused to pale. 240 rounds. I ran with my shadow. He is never tired. I admire his spirit. It seems boundless. He is telling me the winning numbers to the Toto. I laugh. He tells me the way to another girl's paradise lies on a road where not far from here. I laugh some more. Perhaps I'm crazy, I need to go to Norway. Maybe Leif will listen: Driving in my Camper, on my way to Norway. In the backseat, I have Ashkenazy, Horowitz, Lugansky and Pletnev. And we'll go see those damn fjords.

Dream No.1

Felix tells me that hairy knuckles are sexy. Well, that solves one problem.

Day 1, since when?

I am a runner by default. I have defeated myself. I am locked up. It stinks in here. Something must have died not long. It feels like a bloody protein bar. I pick it up and sink my teeth in it. Tastes like chicken. I must be getting lucky. I heard others get lots of fibre, good bowel movement. I look down at my hands and kiss them, then I kiss my legs. I don't miss them, I'm only happy they're there. I close my eyes and slept. Something crept into my ear and nestled in a wall of wax. I think it's happy. I'm happy too.

I get a 5 by 5 cell.

My knuckles are hairy. But that doesn't bother me.