Remember the embers of an amber rose

the fern resting its shadow(ed) on the shoulders of a pansit-pansitan
morose lips trade taciturn licks in pangsit union

when the skeins of productivist imaginings wrap you up
in rhomboid schemes, Minecraft skins, distilled limbs

i volunteer as tribute, as a trope to undermine the divisive
power of an intimation that overflows, runs into the plural, an intimation that sinks into the provisional, the buoyancy of an intimacy.

i am unprepared to speak for every time i did, it was needlessly and heedlessly reactionary. yet i will say this: the respective extents in which we grapple(d) individually with internal faultlines were premised on (un)timely disclosures sited in our own vulnerabilities exposed in close proximity over production-fuelled time i.e. things i might only say to you 3 weeks down the road take 3 days to come thru. don’t analyse, just internalise, victimise...

*annie sprinkles maldon salt on old wounds and applies new sutures

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there is no joe888 or youtiao666 in the embers of a dying rose. no points to be scored, no games to be won, only magical thoughts you can slip under your paws. there is no fade into the bg or wallflower selfies (t)rolling up in the throes of “partition, please”, no marketing of second-guesses, no unpacking of serfdoms, only hawking secondhand anxieties two steps down the memetic supply chain of the rose quartz and serenity blue register.

[13/02/2018 01:49 GMT +08]

Here, I am reminded of the communal delousing that Xin initiated the night before a few were due to return to Singapore and while a few of us were documenting the exhibition. Ideas, lice... Hell hath no furry like a wildfire doused, these flickering embers of a muttering retreat.

In viscous time, you grow accustomed to each others’ ways of being, maybe even rely on someone else for clarity or levity. In the thick of things, ambling is not impossible - it just takes double the effort. You are embroiled. In what, however, is not so clear. But it sure is sticky.