Comte De Monte Cristo

Here rests the thoughts of an immortal, making of what the world hath thrown at him.

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Location: Paris, Island of Monte Cristo, Singapore

"My dear count," cried Morcerf, "you are at fault--you, one of the most formidable logicians I know--and you must see it clearly proved that instead of being an egotist, you are a philanthropist. Ah, you call yourself Oriental, a Levantine, Maltese, Indian, Chinese; your family name is Monte Cristo; Sinbad the Sailor is your baptismal appellation, and yet the first day you set foot in Paris you instinctively display the greatest virtue, or rather the chief defect, of us eccentric Parisians,--that is, you assume the vices you have not, and conceal the virtues you possess."

Sunday, July 01, 2007

Cryptic Dreams

In the dark night, the room was illuminated with the pale blue light of the moon. It was so late yet you said the night has only began. You told me ... what would be of our future. Then you said, I must wait another few years. Maybe by then would time have already completed its journey and all things come to be. So cryptic, then I had a headache in which we slept through together, you said, warmth is found when two people embrace. I said, Ego is the man's only way to keep his existance. You held me, but realised I was almost etheral, dreams are only meant to be dreams. Maybe it was that I fear intimacy that prevents the bonding of us... you said, life is only about bonds. I said the bonds are meant to restrict... then I let go.

Woke up

Had an even worse headache afterthat. Damn those dreams!

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