beautiful cuspidor or cellar door?

The Valley Song

2007-04-09T13:49:00.000+08:00

Was just playing an album of Jars of Clay while having lunch just now, and I came across this beautiful song.

You have led me to the sadness
I have carried this pain
On a back bruised, nearly broken
I'm crying out to You

I will sing of Your mercy
That leads me through valleys of sorrow
To rivers of joy

When death like a gypsy
Comes to steal what I love
I will still look to the heavens
I will still seek Your face

But I fear You aren't listening
Because there are no words
Just the stillness and the hunger
For a faith that assures

Alleluia, alleluia
Alleluia, alleluia

While we wait for rescue
With our eyes tightly shut
Face to the ground using our hands
To cover the fatal cut

And though the pain is an ocean
Tossing us around, around, around
You have calmed greater waters
Higher mountains have come down

Oh, Lord sing of Your mercy,
Mercy
Your mercy

"Do you still miss your mom?" Yes. Definitely yes. But God, I love You so much more. And in my time of mourning for my mom You were there for me. After all that You've done, I could never turn my back on You.

After the valley comes a breakthrough. Only after passing through the valley will you reach the mountain, but all along the way, God is holding your hand. Isn't He so awesome?

When death like a gypsy
Comes to steal what I love
I will still look to the heavens
I will still seek Your face

---

The Lost Poem

2007-01-04T01:01:00.000+08:00

Hello,
Excuse me,
Where am I?
Is this the year 2006?
Inside a gallery
Trapped in a school building
High above the world.
The new year brings with it new places,
New expectations, new demands,
New faces.

Hmm... let me think back.
I think - I think that I was taken out of a diary
Of a person who knew me quite
- or rather -
Very well,
Just like Adam and his wife lost
A close friendship with a much-loved Friend.
I, too,
Have been separated from my writer,

I feel quite lost.

What is my purpose?
I wonder what I was created for.
I know little about myself, except that - well,
Except that I am an arrangement of

Words dressed up with punctuation,
Made to be read out and not just read.
But that's not enough.
I want my destiny.

What is your purpose?
Do you want an answer?
An end to meaningless days and hours?

I do too.

My existence should not be fragments
Of consciousness
In the mind of someone; a jumble of words,
A disorganised mess.
I want to have a
Purpose and a direction.
I want to reach out beyond
This cage of a prison, beyond just being a printed text,
To reach out and touch your heart,
- the heart of my reader.

But first,
I need to know who created me.
And I ask,
Who created you?

Love

2007-01-04T00:59:00.000+08:00

What is the emblem of love?
Is it the red of a rose in full bloom?
Yet its beauty is lost soon after.
Is it the gold which wraps around your finger,
The perfect representation of commitment,
Yes is easily lost and forgotten?
Is it the warmth and gentleness
Of a lone candle,
easily extinguished with a passing breeze?
Is it a loving kiss,
Recklessly given by the one who betrayed?

Nay.
The insignia of love
is much more tangible;

It is the red of a Man's blood,
Which purified a heart like mine
Washed away the muck in my life,
All my filthy deeds erased
Like ink from white paper.

It is the flesh of a Man's body,
One who was faultless and pure,
Who placed in my hands, a gift

Three bloody nails, and a crown of thorns
His sacrifice; my debt is paid.

But the price was high;
Flesh was
Lashed, flogged, and scourged to the bone,
Innocence mocked
Taunted, and spat upon,
He took it all, a cross on His back
Proclaiming His love for me
To the world.

O my King, what can I ever do to repay you?
Nothing I can do will ever suffice.
My sacrifices are but shadows
For there is no greater love than this,
That a man lay down his life for his friend.

The Beginning

2006-10-28T00:04:00.000+08:00

cuspidor /kuhs-pi-dawr/

a large bowl, often of metal, serving as a receptacle for spit, esp. from chewing tobacco: in wide use during the 19th and early 20th centuries.

So why the name beautiful cuspidor?

Cuspidor is considered to be the most intrinsically beautiful word in the English language by James Joyce. He is most remembered for his novel Ulysses, which uses the stream of consciousness throughout the entire book. Not that I'm a fan - I haven't read it before.

Mostly I was trying to find a phrase or a word that could encapsulate the essence of my identity. Which isn't that easy considering that I'm not entirely sure of who I am, really. How do you put a love for travelling, music, literature and a thirst for life into one word? And how would that word or phrase give an inkling of the experiences I've had, be they good or bad? I guess in that sense, languages are limited.

So here it is: my blog to direct, guide and prod along my love for literature. I'll be posting up poems or interesting literature. Enjoy!