tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-216235702011-04-22T10:06:48.686+08:00Musings of nothing at all, carefully preserved from the bar-mind. Cocktail fantasies and candlelit dreams abound.Bartop Confessionsnoreply@blogger.comBlogger211100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21623570.post-1157571483871003882006-09-07T02:54:00.000+08:002006-09-07T03:38:03.963+08:00

And you are strong. Your fingers spoke of strength when you steepled them to speak to me, and your frame, lean though it was, felt larger than me. I am honoured - no, humbled - that you lowered yourself to talk to me. An angel paused while passing through to smile upon a whore, and she is changed. A whore she remains, but she mourns for her incapability to love.He is almost everything I could

Bartop Confessionsnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21623570.post-1144170282257582682006-04-01T04:45:00.000+08:002006-04-18T12:19:50.483+08:00

So I was at the bar last night...... unusually late, for the evening had taken a different turn than I had meant for it to. Instead of the usual places, I gathered up the nerve to enter a new club, joining the queue, a tiny bit chilly in the tank top instead of a shirt, as I might have worn otherwise. Goosebumps rose on my upper arms, unaccustomed to being bared to the air, and the air, at night,

Bartop Confessionsnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21623570.post-1143558266546174902006-03-26T04:11:00.000+08:002006-03-28T23:04:26.560+08:00

So I was at the bar last night...... following an evening of paints and oil pastels and rice-paper dripping with inked thoughts. I sat in a tiny rundown room, second-floor, vaguely shady, yet I knew it was reputable, scary and intimidating, as anything unfamiliar tends to be. Oddly enough, it was not terrifying, not dark, shaded, dangerously tempting, like the club the first time, but nice,

Bartop Confessionsnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21623570.post-1142862222547148162006-03-20T21:12:00.000+08:002006-03-20T21:50:48.620+08:00

So I was at the bar the night before last...... and now I feel, happily, stretched, loose, a pleasant lethargy over me, the past three days having blended into each other, Saturday night tired out, forcing myself to stay, even through the weight of eyelids heavy from barely four hours' sleep the night before, at the club, sighting badly along my cue, losing terribly, swallowing Coke desperately

Bartop Confessionsnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21623570.post-1142264643092528562006-03-12T02:29:00.000+08:002006-03-14T21:57:13.453+08:00

So I was at the bar tonight...... and, of course, as is wont to happen in those brief moments of escape, my mind wandered, and my lover's image grandly swept in, with nary a thought for my heart. The weekends seem a little bit emptier, even though I've only ever spent one with him, but every one since then, I have hoped, and been endlessly disappointed, for one more with him.And I realised, as I

Bartop Confessionsnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21623570.post-1141913434536164052006-03-09T21:57:00.000+08:002006-03-09T22:10:34.550+08:00

So I wasn't at the bar last night...... nor the night before, nor before that. I have been pulled away, real life commitments rearing their very ugly heads again. Last night, however, there was a barbecue. Friends, and associates, gathered, the beach darkening, the tide rising, swooshing ever inwards, as I entertained, between shrimp and chicken, thoughts of what might have been romance - hands

Bartop Confessionsnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21623570.post-1141671216499093552006-03-07T02:45:00.000+08:002006-03-07T02:54:27.156+08:00

So I was at the bar tonight...... and I realise I've finally gone too far. There is a point the catharsis becomes a headache-inducing slap against the skull, a point one, even one so shallow as myself, realises that there is such a thing as too much of a good thing. When the new drinks are no longer as satisfying. When the familiar faces become weary and uninteresting, with not even the pleasure

Bartop Confessionsnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21623570.post-1141320724815482792006-03-03T01:31:00.000+08:002006-03-03T01:32:04.830+08:00

So I was at the bar tonight...... and I find myself home, three hours too early, because even through the dulled senses of a bass-induced fog, the blunted dagger of loneliness still manages to twist around the already-strained heartstrings of a forlorn young girl, pretending, trying so, so hard to be grown-up.And even though you try, clawing at the shroud that surrounds you, almost suffocating

Bartop Confessionsnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21623570.post-1141286807878292582006-03-02T10:00:00.000+08:002006-03-09T22:25:21.186+08:00

So I wasn't at the bar last night...... nor was I planning to be either at the bar or anywhere else, but then he called. 0027 hrs, he called and made a well-reasoned speech about gracious bowing out (on his end) and heartbreak (on mine, even though I didn't). My plans for the evening rapidly changed when I decided that even at 0039 hrs, I could get dressed and sprint for a cab to his place.0101

Bartop Confessionsnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21623570.post-1141267011179692152006-03-01T03:06:00.000+08:002006-03-02T10:36:51.190+08:00

So I was at the bar last night...... for real-life commitments finally gave way, and released me of the strain of holding it all together. The drink was unremarkable, the same lonely sweet fizz of a Shirley Temple gently dissolving the sour ache in my jaw from having clenched it as I lost myself in equations that afternoon, even as it held the promise of sugar in my bloodstream. The second slid

Bartop Confessionsnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21623570.post-1140906654076448032006-02-26T05:59:00.000+08:002006-04-05T02:02:36.356+08:00

So I was at the bar last night...... or, by now, it is the night before, when I was already almost drunk on the heady thrill of an almost-victory, vicariously lived through the eyes and minds and souls of others. I arrived fashionably late, an event apparently not expected, for I was politely inquired of, at both locations, why I was tardy. I had finally given in to the addiction, admitting

Bartop Confessionsnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21623570.post-1140642751669950602006-02-23T04:53:00.000+08:002006-02-23T05:12:31.683+08:00

So I wasn't at the bar tonight...... nor last night, nor last week, and nor shall I be, for at least the next week or so. Normal life calls, the daylight shattering through the usual dense fog, mortal commitments beckoning far less seductively, bright and shiny, not quite as attractive as the midnight-wee-hour temptresses of a broken bottle beside the road, or a lingering glance across a bar. The

Bartop Confessionsnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21623570.post-1140276537105458392006-02-18T23:20:00.000+08:002006-02-23T04:49:46.686+08:00

So I was at the bar last night...... being more twitchy than I usually am at the bar, fingers tapping with painful perturbation, sipping quicker than usual the Shirley Temple for the sugar, because by then, I was pushing 40 hours without sleep, and the haze I saw wasn't just from the smoke anymore. Everything seemed slow by comparison, from the lazy pour of wine into glasses to the molasses-drip

Bartop Confessionsnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21623570.post-1139939590618634272006-02-15T01:53:00.000+08:002006-02-15T01:53:10.630+08:00

So I was at the bar tonight...... and organised, Valentine's Day evening, was a bout of speed dating, hasty, barely-developed, awkwardly-opened, gently-explored conversations, like a virgin's first kiss, which I gaily took part in. Different faces, eight minutes each, what-do-you-do, do-you-come-here-often, with-friends-or-alone repetitions of questions and answers, and yet I managed five

Bartop Confessionsnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21623570.post-1139689644452289392006-02-12T04:07:00.000+08:002006-02-12T04:27:24.463+08:00

So I was at the bar tonight...... and it was unusually quiet, so much so that at first I wondered, as I came on approach to the deathly still curtain that blocked off the inside from view, if I had forgotten a holiday and it was closed. I was quite disappointed, for the floors of the bar would click satisfyingly under the new, unscuffed, virgin edges of my boot heels on correspondingly new,

Bartop Confessionsnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21623570.post-1139420552633723002006-02-09T01:39:00.000+08:002006-02-12T04:05:04.090+08:00

So I wasn't at the bar last night...... because, for once, you see, I anticipated actually being on time for the 0800 lecture today, despite being told I could miss it. Instead, I was at home, where there was no smoke, and everything was clear, and bright, but it might have been otherwise, for the only way I knew was the mildly hazy pink of my eyelids, like a Virgin Mary, overstirred by a nervous

Bartop Confessionsnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21623570.post-1139068176658074932006-02-04T23:55:00.000+08:002006-02-04T23:49:36.660+08:00

So I was at the bar last night...... and at the bar, two seats over, was a vision. Blue eyes and an accent unbelievably sexy, she almost glared, chain-smoking with a martini. Sooner or later, details were revealed, and she was friendly, and we laughed about statistics. Not too many drinks later, two at most, she asked me if I wanted to help her find another bar. I obliged, as I am wont to do,

Bartop Confessionsnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21623570.post-1138895121887157632006-02-02T23:30:00.000+08:002006-02-02T23:56:44.936+08:00

So I was at the bar last night...... and I wished I had never woken from the dream, a dream I dreamt of the most beautiful words spoken to a girl, tender and raw. I woke, and I wept for the loss of the beautiful fantasy I had not known was false, not while I dreamt."Now that we're together, like we were always going to be.""Don't ever tell me you're not coming home to me.""Fuck 'em all. I want

Bartop Confessionsnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21623570.post-1138699221136569932006-01-31T16:56:00.000+08:002006-01-31T19:02:14.906+08:00

So I was at the bar last night...... and all I could think about was how amazing he looked when I first met Him(TM). How he was beautiful and gorgeous, but no one else seemed to see it. All the better for me, I thought, as I sipped upon a syrupy sweet mocktail, at the time. And eventually, as things are wont to do, I fell in love with him, and didn't bother hiding it. And sooner or later (and oh,

Bartop Confessionsnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21623570.post-1138561597787584692006-01-30T02:52:00.000+08:002006-01-30T03:06:37.793+08:00

So I was at the bar tonight...... and, as usual, imbibing of my innocent drinks, which tonight were grapefruit and cranberry juice, in that order. There were musings on how fabulously hot the young men snogging across the bar were, and gentle yet profound disappointment that the bartender, the beautiful woman that she is, already has a girlfriend. Many a time have I looked over the bar, sitting,

Bartop Confessionsnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21623570.post-1138454864253192832006-01-28T21:20:00.000+08:002006-01-28T21:27:56.950+08:00

So I was at the bar last night...... imbibing of an innocent drink, when I allowed my gaze to wander, and noticed that I could have written so much. Silently, nodding at the bartender (whom I adore, for not kicking me out that first night), by the light of the Heineken tap, the smoke from the copious cigarettes glowing in the room filling my hair with their scent, the tiny bar echoing with

Bartop Confessionsnoreply@blogger.com0