Idiot Philosophy No. 1


Stoicism of a Twenties Girl

by Luna | August 11, 2016 10:50PM

A little about me: reserved, but outlandish; cautious but thrill seeker (in some quiet ways); vain but shy; passionate but tired of love.

I am bookish and barely polite, so you can already imagine my interaction with humans, especially with my peers. I don’t like catty talk, but my best moments are when I am jumping through grammatical gymnastics or creating loops of nonsense. Not many people can keep up with this lifestyle, mainly because I don’t drink or have a lot of sex. I live in a state of relative happiness or gladness, despite the lack of alcohol in my life.

Oh, but I do occasionally get fired up by the random sequence of crushes that overtake me, quite incessantly. I don’t necessarily dream or desire of a boy telling me how good I am; mainly, I just want him to fervently touch me here and there. I could not imagine my days filled with the same person every day. I dread waiting for anyone.

And so it happened that one day I was bored at work. The office was just opening at the new building, and the residents were recently checking in. He was one of them. I had seen him before at the office with questions. As I saw him leave, I mistakenly lingered on him for a couple of more seconds. I saw his black hair, wavy at the sides. I took in his broad shoulders, though he was not very tall. Deep breadth. Sigh.

I like to take long showers, and on this particular day I got to thinking about him. I began my grandiose fantasizing with very explicit images of both our passions fusing together. The began pretty quiet and rapidly grew out of proportion.  I was on him with all my strength while his words slurred down on me. I gave over myself without any inhibitions, which I would have not if this had been a real situation. I practiced how to seductively roll his name off my tongue. But best of all, I imagined his facial reactions when faced with my uncontrollable desires. He would be surprised yet kind about it. He would look appreciatively and then determined to get at me from all ways.

Immediately afterwards, I would switch to thinking about general issues, like politics, my rent, savings, and food. I simply laughed at such fantasies that had left my head moments ago. I’d go on about my day, except that each day I saw him at work I felt an intimate connection towards him, as if we’d really touched each other. It was completely false and fabricated – I understood that. Yet, I could not shake the feeling that I might like the way he kindly smiled at me without much fuzz.

Soon, I was nearly mad with thoughts about him. On one occasion that I saw him waiting in line at the front desk, I could not look at him for fear of feeling anything more than usual. I spent my time acting courteous to him when inside I was mad with longing.

So, what if he did like me? What then. What if I did not like him very much, after all? Would knowing him ruin all my ideas about him? What if it turned out we were wholly different and unable to tolerate each other? I would have to end it, when it was me who had started it all! I needed to stop liking him. Just the prospect of meeting him was making me a crazy dependent girl, and I refused to proceed like a drunk, staggering through each day for the brief moments filled with him.

Finally, I decided to not do anything about it. I would suffer through my painful desire of him, only to not act upon it. Whenever my thoughts would run amok, my body would just shut down. Yes, there would be no escape from my rampart passions, yet I would stand as still as a wooden chair. In my hazy turmoil, I would strap myself to my thoughts, and in doing so, prevent myself from becoming overwhelmed with desires.

The greatest test of control came during the afternoons, when he would come daily to pick up his packages. I smiled pleasantly and thought, with all my concentration, what a nice friend he would make. How rewarding it would be to know him as a person —not lover. I made myself complacent by simply regarding him as briefly as possible. I planned my reactions and conversations with him beforehand, spending much of my time thinking how to not feel so much for him.

It may be an impossible task but, then again, I live for the impossibilities. Some days I feel weak and helpless; my mind filled with daydreams of his voice and eyes. Some days, I am better at escaping my desires, placing myself in a nonexistent state of being. Because if I do not exist in the moment, I do not have to feel.


I Must Go


I just
can’t see
the whole of us

I must go
up the
slippery moon

and maybe leave for a month or two

This thrill
swells full like a balloon

This love
it’s my

for soon I hope to be again with you

Bring down the dank sky
my chest
trembles for your

– Yes, your steady hand
pull me down
before I show
that my life washes off without you

A Study of Flowers by the Naked Eye


Aster looks like a sponge
Calla like a flute
A kinky set of Chrysanthemum hair
Mums freedom all over town
When Fuji, wild and careless, jaunts

But who can forget the daffodil?
For years and years it does not cease
Calling my name
Though I’ve only seen it closed
Those lazy eyelids give me bedroom thoughts all day

Buzzing around my Gardenia
Bird songs implore for a white petal
Placed casually by my hair

Hyacinth, the toilet brush
What can I say of first impressions?

Anything Egyptian of Iris
Remains lost in the regal purple
Meanwhile, under a canopy of shade
Lily, the vengeful queen
Hurts my teeth each time I look at her

So I leave at evening with
One incomplete whisper, given to
Orchids, those shapely ears
Erect for some private thought

My secret here I see him

Narcissus, how I do love you
I love looking at white
Flying – No, falling, unrestrainedly falling
Like a poet on the verge of disappearing.

Gentleman Friend


‘It doesn’t mean
I don’t love you’
                            I looked at him with my frail eyes.
I felt defeated
               standing before her resolved eyes.
               ‘No. It just means
                               you can’t take it anymore.
    You’re done
                        and I can’t even make you happy.
    It’s too late to pull
                               you back through here, with me, right?’

Running my hand
through his hair, I merely said,
                            ‘I don’t want to hurt you.’

The silence locked us in —apart in rooms across each other.
The sunless day
slogged through
and our time together
held the contentment
of a patient walking for the first time.

‘I feel normal with you.
                There was never the need
to make my days grand
                 or wild
                 or different with you.’
He smiled.

I took his gaze

and held it, smoothed it out,
until I realized,            
                                ‘I gave away tricks and cheats,  a long while ago’.

Strong Girl Blues


The girl can’t help it

when she disobeys her mother at night.

She has dreams of turning destiny

into a tangible crystal ball, squeezing

time right out.

She can’t help it

in fact,

she would thrash it

against the library walls,

until such force would


the pages off the history books.

The girl can’t help it if she acts violent.

She is another’s


slaying the darkness once more, who else  

Can help it?

the unknowable it that longs for her,

life under a monstrous kismet

waiving the last sun goodbye,

needs her, feeds off her, but  

she can’t.  

And for all the times

she saved the world, she lost in love.

A hero in love died many times,

waiving the last sun goodbye.

Lunging Moment


Here is a kind of air

hovers over the heart
the kind you can’t breathe, or
feel the cold wind through soft

it weighs on the heart deeper;
shiver at that emptiness resound


Perhaps it takes
the form of a bubble,
gently disturbing systematic and
rhythmic blood pulses,

not blunt,
charming —but
like real air, there are no boundaries

An impulse to gasp
rolls through the heart
like a train that keeps going

on tracks, rather than on time;
a lunging


irascible against time

Sometimes I think I know
what the whole love is
or that through this emptiness
or lack of space
I can understand
things clearly,
the invariable things
that blunder through fixed days.

This kind of air, a
plunging moment in green respite.